Clockwork Queen
by Not Enough Answers
Summary: I had never particularly wanted to become a Shadowhunter, or find myself stuck in the year 1878, or even fall in love. In fact, there were a lot of things I hadn't particularly wanted. But they were happening anyway, and there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop them. Jem/OC, Will/Tessa
1. One

**I've (probably unwisely) decided to start yet ****_another _****OC fanfiction (and yes, I am planning on finishing all of my other stories as well as this one!) **

**So, I know that the Will/Tessa/Jem dynamic is very beautiful and something you don't see often in books, if at all. I absolutely adored it...which is why I'm throwing an OC into the mix. ;) But seriously, I've always personally felt that both Will and Jem deserve someone whose heart doesn't half belong to someone else. Although the relationships between Will/Tessa and Jem/Tessa are both unique and wonderful in their own ways...I think Will and Tessa are better suited for each other than Jem and Tessa (though I'm actually a Jessa shipper. Strange, I know). I won't get into the reasons for that here, but I've had this OC floating around in my head for a while, and I've always wanted to write a Jem/OC fic even before I read _Clockwork Princess._**

**The classic girl-from-the-future-gets-sent-back-in-time is a very overused premise, I know (since I've written more than one of them ;)) but as with all my other stories, I want to make this one ****_different, _****and I hope that others will enjoy it.**

**It begins a couple of weeks before the events of ****_Clockwork Angel_****, and will follow through _Clockwork Prince_ and part of _Clockwork Princess_-but turns AU in some parts. Since I'm going to be telling it from my OC's perspective, it won't be a complete retelling of canon, and although some conversations and events will stay the same, others will be different. If you're interested in that, please give it a chance!**

**Now, I apologize for the length of this chapter and the lack of Jem or Will, but I want to flesh out my OC as much as possible before the "real" story begins. I really hope you'll like her. :)**

**DISCLAIMER: ****Abby and her mother are the only characters I own**_**.**_** Additionally, some of the information and aspects of Shadowhunter life won't be the same as they are in TMI, since it's been a long time since I've read that series and have forgotten most of the finer details. Please don't hurt me! *cowers* Also, please don't hurt me for the long author's note! I promise they aren't usually this long.**

* * *

_**"Time is too slow for those who wait,**_

_**Too swift for those who fear,**_

_**Too long for those who grieve,**_

_**Too short for those who rejoice,**_

_**But for those who love, Time is eternity."**_

_**-Henry Van Dyke**_

* * *

_**Somewhere in California, May 1978**_

**R**ain splattered heavily onto the roof of the seedy motel we were staying at, seeping through the cracks in the plaster roof and dripping into the buckets I'd strategically placed under the gaps in the ceiling. The steady _drip-drip-drip _had been an annoyance at first, but during the night I'd gradually grown accustomed to the sound until I barely registered it anymore.

Above the sound of the rain, I heard the low whoosh of a strong gust of wind, and the building creaked loudly. I pulled the musty blanket up tighter around myself, shutting my eyes while envisioning beaches and palm trees. I wished I knew where my mother had gone.

As soon as I'd gotten home from school the previous day, she had run into my room, wild-eyed, and demanded that I pack my things. We were driving to Los Angeles straight away, she informed me, and there was no guarantee that we'd ever get back home.

"Mom," I'd exclaimed, exasperated, "I know you have a tendency to overreact, but we can't just pack our bags and _leave_—"

"Abby," she'd said firmly, a determined spark in her blue eyes, "We need to get to an Institute _now_, and the one in Los Angeles is the closest."

No matter how much I'd insisted to know what was going on, she wouldn't elaborate any further, and I'd been forced to fill my suitcase with clothes and keepsakes, knowing that we'd probably be back within the week. My mother often got strange ideas in her head—from time to time she would swear that someone was following us, and I was used to staying at hotels and motels in different cities around the state until she announced that the danger had passed—so I hadn't taken her seriously at first.

We'd only driven for around three hours when she'd pulled over at a dingy motel in the middle of the desert and announced we were staying the night. I'd certainly stayed in worse places, but this wasn't the best by a long shot. My bed was far too narrow, pushed against the window so that no matter how I drew the curtains, I could still see a glimpse of the parking lot, and the tiny television refused to work. The lamp on the bedside table wouldn't turn on and the water that spewed out of the sink and shower was tinged a revolting brown color. Worse still, I could see a large black spider on the wall above the second bed, but I was too scared to throw a shoe at it in case it fell down, hence the reason I had chosen the bed nearest the window.

My mother had hurried out of the room the second we'd arrived, muttering about how she had to do something important. This I found slightly odd, since she usually locked us in the room and nearly went hysterical if I even tried to open the window, so her prolonged absence was even more unusual. When that was combined with the storm currently raging outside and my exhaustion, I was, to say the least, worried.

A flash suddenly lit up the room and I jerked upright in bed, my heart pounding. But after a moment I realized it had just been lightning, confirmed by the booming crash of thunder that reverberated around the room and nearly deafened me.

After casting a wary glance across the room to make sure the spider was still in the same place, I turned my attention to the dull red numbers of the alarm clock next to the broken lamp: _1:58 AM. _My mother had been gone for nearly three hours, and aside from my worry about her and my unease from the storm, I was absolutely starving, since I'd had nothing aside from a few French fries at dinner. To top that all off, my mind was churning over the questions that had been bothering me for hours and that I was still no closer to finding the answer: _Why?_

I was used to running around and hiding by now, trying to flee an unknown threat, but something about this time felt different. Every time I saw that panicked spark in my mother's eyes, every time she snapped at me to pack my things, I felt my heart slowly sink deeper into my stomach, but this time had been the worst of all. I'd long ago stopped questioning my mother about why she went into her strange hysterics, and although I'd loved the adventure and excitement when I was younger, now I just wanted stability. I had just turned sixteen and dreamt of going to New York City for college in just over two years, where I would hopefully study music at Juilliard. I'd played the piano since I was four years old and had performed in numerous recitals all over San Francisco. Although my hopes of getting into Juilliard would probably never come to fruition, there were nevertheless many other music schools in New York where I could study.

Jerking myself out of my sudden daydream of flawlessly performing a piece of classical music, Beethoven or Mozart perhaps, at a recital in front of hundreds of people, I forced myself to think about less pleasant things, like why my mother had insisted that we go to the Los Angeles Institute. That had been the _last _place I'd believed she would take us. No, this trip was definitely not like the others. Perhaps whatever she'd been fearing for the past sixteen years had finally arrived. The thought made my stomach clench uncomfortably.

My father, Jonathan Cartwright, was a Shadowhunter who had once lived in the LA Institute with his family. He had met my mother, Grace, a mundane, when he was sixteen—the same age I was now—and they had instantly fallen in love, secretly dating for two years where he'd taught her all about the Nephilim and the Shadow World. My mother had learned how to fight and could recite passages from the _Codex _just as flawlessly as any Shadowhunter. When they were eighteen, they'd gotten engaged and my mother had requested permission to Ascend, as a Shadowhunter and a mundane could not marry. After three months of deliberation, the Clave had refused his offer and my father had in turn ceased being a Shadowhunter, removing his Marks and choosing instead to live a mundane life with my mother in San Francisco. She became pregnant shortly after their wedding, but their happy life was to be cut short two weeks after I was born. Dad received word that there had been a Greater Demon attack on the LA Institute, his old home, and that his family was losing—badly. Despite the fact that his Marks were gone and he had lost most of his strength and powers, he rushed right to the Institute to help, despite my mother's warnings to be careful. Of course, he couldn't last long against a Greater Demon, and even with a seraph blade he was killed minutes after he arrived.

Since he was no longer a Shadowhunter, he wasn't given a "proper" burial, and so the task was left upon my mother to arrange his funeral and he was buried in a nondescript cemetery several blocks from our house; in fact, I often took a shortcut through the graveyard on the way to school and laid flowers on his grave. When I was younger, I used to talk to him and tell him about the problems I'd had that day and how Mom was doing—at least until I was in eighth grade and a group of boys from school had followed me all the way to the cemetery and laughed at me pretending to talk to my father. Shamefaced, I'd run home in tears and never spoken out loud to my father again—but I did still sometimes speak to him in my mind.

Understandably, my grieving mother blamed the Clave and the Shadow World for Dad's death, and so vowed to remove all traces of it from her memory, discarding any of my father's old possessions that carried some connection to his old life with it.

Of course, she couldn't rid herself of the heritage completely: Nephilim blood was dominant, and so I, her daughter, was technically a Shadowhunter. She did allow the standard newborn protection ceremony to be placed on me so that I would be free of demonic influences, but aside from that she had raised me pretending that I was just a normal child. I would occasionally see past glamours when I was younger, and I would be able to see things that other children couldn't and instinctively know if someone had connections with the Shadow World, but my mother had just shrugged it off and made me believe I was seeing things.

Although I hadn't known it at the time, when I was six years old a member of the Clave had shown up at our house and requested to see me—every six years, Nephilim children who were born of a mundane were offered the chance to become Shadowhunters. Of course, I had heard my mother shouting and I'd hid in my room until the visitor had left. Mom had hugged me and brought me a cookie, saying that it had just been a salesman trying to make her buy something she didn't want.

I'd been satisfied with that explanation, at least until I was twelve. This time I'd opened the door for a tall, broad-shouldered man who introduced himself as Andrew Lightwood. He'd immediately asked me how much my mother had told me about the Shadow World, and my baffled stare must have been answer enough, since he immediately began explaining about my heritage and who my father had been. I'd always believed he'd been killed in a car crash, so the knowledge that he had actually been killed fighting demons was a bit of a shock, to say the least. Normally, I would have dismissed Andrew Lightwood as insane and shut the door, but he seemed to know everything about my parents, and even understood the fact that I sometimes saw strange things. Mom had come inside then, and must have immediately concluded that there was no point in making up excuses anymore, so she allowed him to tell me everything.

Of course, I'd been bewildered at first, and fired off a round of questions—why did my father have to leave the Clave? Did I have to become a Shadowhunter? Why had my mother never told me about what I _really _was before?—and after Andrew Lightwood had answered them to the best of his abilities, he told me he would give me a week to let the information sink in before I made my decision whether I wanted to become a Shadowhunter or not.

As soon as he'd left, Mom had apologized to me, saying she just wanted to keep me safe and that she didn't want me to be killed in battle as Dad had. She told me that I could choose to become a Shadowhunter if I so wished, however, but that I would be required by law never to see her again.

It didn't take me long to make my decision—I'd never been one to recklessly throw myself into new situations and jump headfirst into a world I knew next to nothing about, so after the week had passed I had kindly but firmly told Andrew Lightwood that I had no interest in becoming a Shadowhunter, that I felt that staying with my mother was more important. He had coolly nodded and informed me that he would return when I was eighteen one last time; after that, the path of Shadowhunting would disappear to me forever. My mother, I could tell, was relieved beyond belief that I had refused to join the Clave, and had done her best to scare me away by telling me horrific stories that had happened to Shadowhunters and how terrible and pure evil demons were. Now that I was older, I knew that most of it had been greatly exaggerated and that she'd just been painting the undesirable side of the life to me, but at the time I'd shied away from anything that reminded me of it. When I'd seen things out of the corner of my eyes or I would be able to sense something that no one else could, I'd become terrified and had blocked it out of my mind, a tactic I still employed even today. During my early teens, I had attempted as best as I could to delude myself that demons and Downworlders didn't _really _exist, that my eyes just liked to play tricks on me and that I had won the genetic lottery when it came to physical abilities (I'd always been faster and stronger than the other children my age, although I'd never been interested in sports despite the teachers' numerous attempts to convince me to play on their teams). I'd told myself that when my mother dragged me along on these strange trips, she was simply running from the Clave trying to recruit me. When I watched a movie with my friends and a passing mention was made of demons and angels or even vampires and werewolves, my heart always began to pound a little faster and I couldn't look anybody in the eye in case one of them noticed I was acting strange. But I managed to push those thoughts out of my mind and laugh along with the others—most of the time.

Perhaps some part of me had always known that I wouldn't be able to escape the Shadow World forever, that it took hold of a person and irrevocably changed their lives whether they wanted it to or not, if that was truly their destiny, but I had repressed all the signs that pointed to my life eventually becoming intertwined with the angel blood that ran in my veins out of plain fear and desire to have a simple life.

That time, it seemed, was fast running out.

While the storm raged on, I pulled the pillow over my head, burying my face in the scratchy sheets and trying to relax myself enough so that I could fall asleep. But my body refused to give in and begrudge me the rest I so desperately needed. No matter how hard I tried to focus on deep breathing and counting sheep, my brain would jump to yet another question within seconds: Where was my mother? Why had she been gone so long? Was she in danger? Was _I _in danger? If we did manage to get to the Los Angeles Institute, would my grandmother, who still lived there, take us in? The family of Shadowhunters who left the Clave were strictly forbidden to see them once they became mundanes, under no circumstances. I'd never met my paternal grandmother, although I was named after her. Would she like me, or would she try to force me to become a Shadowhunter and abandon my mother?

My stomach clenched painfully, followed by a rumble that was nearly as loud as the thunder outside. I groaned and wrapped my hands around my midsection, trying to ignore the hunger that was clawing at my insides. That combined with the anxiety and certainty only helped to fuel my dizziness and make me wish that I'd just stayed at home and flat-out refused to follow my mother on one of her irrational, crazy trips.

She'd told me before she had left not to leave the room at all, and like an obedient daughter, I'd listened to her. It was the kind of situation where, in books, the heroine would defy orders and go looking for her mother regardless of whatever danger was lurking outside—but then again, a heroine would also choose to become a Shadowhunter instead of pretending to live as a mundane, and I certainly wasn't a heroine—I wasn't even close. I was just Abby, a painfully shy, gawky girl who had been bullied for talking to her father's grave and who apparently had the blood of an angel running in her veins. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I was certain that Andrew Lightwood had made a mistake and had been confusing me with some other girl.

I rolled over for the countless time so that I was facing outward into the dark room. I could just see the outline of the spider on the wall, and prayed that Mom would be back soon, if, for no other reason, that she would be able to kill it. I had always hated spiders and any type of bug—if it crawled, I was afraid of it. This was generally a nonissue in San Francisco, but out here in the desert was probably the worst place for an insectophobe like me to be. Unfortunately, it hadn't been my choice.

Maybe, I thought with a sudden rush of hope, she was out finding food for us, and she'd had to drive a long distance before she came to a corner store. _A three-hour drive? _my cynical mind reminded me, and I quickly shushed it, instead imagining what types of food she would bring back. Pizza would be ideal, with some cans of soda thrown in…hell, I would even be happy with a chocolate bar or fruit. I wasn't picky at this point.

The thought of food gave me the worst pang of hunger yet, and I knew that I wouldn't be able to lie here starving for the rest of the night. Something told me Mom wasn't going to come back anytime soon, and I was liable to faint or need insulin by morning. I didn't even have water to quench my parched throat.

There was a good chance there would be a vending machine in the motel lobby—if I hurried straight there and back, I would probably be safe. I didn't think there would be very many people walking around in the middle of a thunderstorm, either.

Throwing the covers away from me, I stood up and began to feel my way through the dark room, keeping a wide berth from the spider. I imagined it clicking its pincers evilly as my hand closed around the doorknob to the bathroom and I gratefully ducked inside, flicking on the light and blinking several times in quick succession, trying to wake myself up. When I felt as if my retinas had been permanently burned, I turned on the tap and tried not to think about the brown water as I splashed some up onto my face, staring gloomily at my reflection.

Mom had always told me that I was the absolute spitting image of my father, and judging by the only picture I had of him, I was inclined to agree with her. While Mom was slender and tiny, with bright blue eyes and short brown hair cut into a bob, Dad had been tall and muscular, with a handsome ruggedness to his face. I'd inherited his large, almost permanently surprised-looking brown eyes and long blonde hair that I usually kept tied up into a ponytail. I had always had a layer of muscle on me, no matter how much I sat on the couch watching TV, and my high cheekbones and general facial structure were the same as his had been. Unfortunately, the one thing I _hadn't _inherited from him was his height—at five feet four, I was stubbornly stuck at average. I was certain that my mother's small stature had balanced that out—perhaps it was the only thing I'd inherited from her.

When I was satisfied that I no longer resembled a zombie, I left the bathroom and slipped over to the main door, hoping that the storm would clear up soon. The lightning appeared to be taking a temporary break, and the only sound now was the rain lashing against the roof. _Damn it_, I realized, I didn't even have an umbrella.

Well, it looked like I would have to run. Grabbing my purse from where it hung on the rack next to the door, I slung it over my shoulder and yanked open the door, stepping outside into the torrential downpour.

Despite the rain, it was still humid and muggy, and my lungs felt like they were filling up with water as I jogged down the pathway to where a dim light from the main lobby was visible through the sheets of rain. I held my purse up over my head as I dashed past several parked cars toward the light, wondering if this was what sailors felt like when their ships were stuck in hurricanes and they caught sight of a lighthouse in the distance.

To my dismay, our car was still in the same place Mom had parked it. Unless she'd left and then come back without going to our room, she hadn't gone to get food as I'd hoped. Now I was really starting to become scared. She had never left for this long before—should I speak to the clerk at the front desk and ask them to search for her?

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a dark shape moving on the opposite side of the car. My thoughts scattered, I stopped in my tracks, hoping that it had just been a racoon or crow. "Is anyone there?" I asked loudly, but the only sound that answered me was the rain.

_Don't panic, Abby, _I told myself as I walked around the side of the car. _You see things like this all the time. It's just worse now because it's dark and you're alone._

When I peered around the edge of the car, I half-expected something to jump out at me, but to my surprise and relief there was nothing there. Maybe I'd just been imagining things and it was my overtired brain tricking me.

At any rate, it probably wasn't the wisest idea to stay outside any longer, since I was already soaking wet, and I turned my back on the car to hurry through the parking lot to the lobby.

I'd never been so grateful to see the garish, brightly colored interior of a motel lobby in my life. Once I was safely inside, I leaned against the door breathing hard, as if I'd just run a marathon instead of a hundred feet. When my heart had slowed down to its normal pace, I opened my eyes and surveyed the empty room, noting with disappointment that the desk was empty. Had even the desk clerk decided to go home instead of braving out the storm?

"Hello?" I called, taking a cautious step further into the lobby, but there was no answer. I could hear the low hum of the air conditioner in the corner of the room, and my skin erupted in goosebumps at the cold air. First it had been too warm outside, and now I was freezing. Was it not possible to have a happy medium?

My stomach growled, reminding me of my purpose for leaving the relative comfort of my room in the first place. Luckily, I spotted a vending machine across the far wall and immediately started towards it, reaching in my purse for a wallet.

Mom had given me the purse for my thirteenth birthday, and I'd never gone anywhere without it since then. It was small, just enough to fit a few essential items, but so far I'd always managed to fit everything I needed in it. I usually wore it slung across my chest—making it more difficult for potential thieves to get at, as I'd learned in Girl Scouts—and it was dark blue, tonight blending perfectly with my T-shirt and jeans. I rubbed my bare arms with my hands to get rid of the goosebumps, wishing I'd brought a sweater.

I only carried four items in my purse: my wallet, the house key, a picture of my parents and I, and my father's journal. The last two were precious to me; the picture being that it was the only physical reminder I had of my father and the only picture of us together. It was taken the day I was born by one of the nurses at the hospital: my father, beaming, with his arm around my exhausted but triumphant-looking mother, who was holding a swath of blankets in my arms. You could just see my pink, wrinkled face, looking like something that was barely human, but I treasured it anyway. On the back was a description in my mother's handwriting: _Jonathan, Grace and Abigail Cartwright, March 7, 1962. _

Dad's journal was old, the pages yellowed and creased, but I vowed to keep it forever. Only ten of the pages were written in—he'd started it when my mother went into labour, chronicling my birth and the first fourteen days of my life—and I had memorized every sentence written in his strong, sure hand, running over the letters with my fingers and imagining some bit of his spirit still existed in the pages. The last entry had been written the morning of his death, twelve hours before he died, and my heart contracted every time I read it, wishing I could somehow travel back in time and beg him not to go fight the demon, to stay with Mom and I instead…

The vending machine groaned loudly as it spat out my bag of chips and Coke. I immediately snatched them up and tore open the bag of chips, stuffing three of them into my mouth at once. I was too hungry to wait until I'd gotten back to my room, and besides, there was nobody around to see me eat, anyway.

As soon as the food hit my stomach, I began to regain strength, feeling more optimistic about my current situation. Mom would come back—she always did. Maybe she was staying with another one of the guests who was afraid of storms (she often had our neighbor's young son over when he was home alone and there was a thunderstorm), or she'd borrowed someone's car so that it would make her more difficult to track. It was exactly something that her paranoid mind would think up.

Although the junk food hadn't completely filled me, I wasn't feeling as faint as I had been before, and I was just beginning to realize how tired I really was. If I managed to forget about the spider on the wall, I could probably manage to get to sleep. And if Mom _still _hadn't returned when I woke up, I would get the car and go looking for her myself—I'd just got my learner's permit, and even if I wasn't _legally _allowed to drive without a licensed adult in the car, I did, at least, have a rudimentary knowledge of how it worked.

Cheered by these thoughts, I headed out of the lobby and back into the muggy night. The rain had slowed to a light drizzle, and although I could hear the low growl of thunder in the distance, it sounded much farther away and I could even see a break in the clouds, above which a sprinkling of stars shone brightly.

That sight gave me hope, and I was almost smiling as I hurried back through the line of cars to our room, suddenly glad that I hadn't locked the door. Mom had taken the only key with her—a precaution in case I would 'get ideas' about leaving the room, but then again, she could hardly blame me for getting food hours after she'd left.

My eyes scanned over the parking lot briefly as I crossed it—and that was when I saw the dark shape again. This time it was farther away from me, but that didn't make me feel any less panicked. The hope I'd been feeling seconds before immediately vanished as I stared over at the hunched form. It definitely wasn't human, that much I could tell, and it appeared to be standing still rather than moving. I had the unnerving sense it was looking right at me.

I froze in my spot, my heart leaping into my throat, just as a bright flash of lightning lit up the lot, and I found myself staring at nothing. The dark shape had disappeared as soon as the lightning had hit, and someone could be forgiven for thinking they were just seeing things. But I knew better.

Forcing my trembling legs to move again, I ran past the row of doors, slowing only when I heard the tinny sound of a laugh track floating out from one of the rooms. I paused in front of it, suddenly comforted. The knowledge that I wasn't the only soul for miles came as a great relief to me, and I almost knocked on the door and asked whoever was occupying the room if I could stay with them for a while. But I knew that a teenage girl asking a stranger for help in the middle of a deserted stretch of road at night wasn't the safest thing to do, and I liked to imagine that I was braver than that—so, with the knowledge that there was at least _one _other person I could turn to if I was truly in danger, I continued on, idly lamenting over the fact that their TV worked and ours didn't.

Without looking back across the lot to see if the dark shape was still lurking about somewhere, I pushed open the door to our room and double-bolted the lock, hoping that it was strong enough to hold if someone _did _try to break in. Noting with another sense of relief that the spider still hadn't moved, I scurried across the room to my bed without reaching for my suitcase to change into a pair of dry clothes and climbed under the covers, shutting my eyes tightly and forcing myself not to think about the fact that my mother was still gone, and if the dark shape I'd seen was somehow connected with her disappearance…

* * *

It was still dark outside when I woke up, my cheek scratching against the cheap material of the pillow. My mind was muddled, my thoughts disoriented, and it was with disappointment that the alarm clock stated it was just past four o'clock in the morning: I'd only had an hour and a half of sleep.

_At least the storm stopped,_ I thought grudgingly to myself as my eyes automatically sought out the wall for the spider, before realizing with a start that it was no longer there. My gaze raked across the ceiling and then the floor, unfortunately finding nothing. Well, I supposed that it couldn't stay there forever, but still, I would have liked to know where it had gone.

I turned over in bed so that I wouldn't be tempted to continue looking for it, and just before I was about to close my eyes again I looked up at the small gap between the curtain and the window, wanting to see if I could catch a glimpse of the stars before I went back to sleep.

There _was _something there, all right, but it definitely wasn't the stars.

One large, slit-pupiled eye was staring through the window at me, its irises unblinking and red.

A scream tore through my throat before I fully realized what was happening: my instincts worked before my mind did, propelling me out of the bed. I was on my feet before my brain caught up with me, grabbing my purse from where it rested on the pillow. I half-expected the window to smash as whatever that…_creature_…was tried to get to me, but there was no movement at all.

Nevertheless, I continued to back up across the room, running over my options in my head. I couldn't leave the room since that thing was outside, so that meant the bathroom was the only place to hide. But what if it tried to get in and cornered me? I could always grab the shower rod and use that as a weapon.

When I reached the bathroom, I jumped inside and closed the door behind me before turning on the light. Not content just to stand there, I climbed into the bathtub and yanked the shower curtain closed, only to see the spider clinging on to the curtain inches from my hand.

I screamed again and nearly tripped over the edge in my rush to get away from it, but my hand moved too abruptly and the spider fell down onto the tiled floor. I leapt away from it and grabbed the doorknob, watching in horror as it began to scuttle across the floor toward me. It was nearly the size of the palm of my hand and I was close enough to see the individual hairs on its body as it came ever closer.

That was it: I wrenched open the bathroom door and stepped out into the main room, pulling it shut just before the spider could reach me. The crack under the door was too small for it to fit through, and it closed right on one of its legs, the end piece slicing cleanly off and falling onto my shoe.

Sick with terror, I shook it off and backed up onto the wall. I couldn't help but feel a shred of pity of the spider despite my overwhelming fear of them—I'd just hacked one of its legs off and its body had probably smashed against the door. But while it was probably bleeding to death right now, I was being chased by a strange dark shape and had just come face-to-face with a reptilian eye. I would almost rather have been in the spider's position.

No sooner had I thought this than I saw the dark shape for the third time—but this time I sensed rather than saw something moving under my bed. Before my incredulous eyes, a long, scaly leg unfurled itself and stretched out toward me, its claws digging into the carpet.

This time, I didn't scream. I simply whirled around and pulled the door open, not even bothering to slam it behind me as I sprinted outside, tearing across the parking lot and running faster than I ever had before in my life.

In hindsight, it was probably a stupid idea: but the thought of going to ask any of the other guests if I could hide in their rooms or dashing back into my room to find the car key were even worse ideas, so I settled for blindly running away from the creature, despite the fact that it was most likely much faster than me and I was trapped in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but empty road for miles and miles.

My purse thumped against my chest as I skidded onto the road, still running as fast as I could. I had no idea which way led to Los Angeles and which way to San Francisco, but if I managed to reach either of those cities I wasn't going to be picky. If I made it to LA, I would go straight to the Institute and beg my grandmother to let me in, and if I made it back home to San Francisco I would call the police and hide at the house.

But I hadn't made it more than fifty feet before there was an enormous crash behind me and the earth began to shake under my feet, mounds of dirt erupting from the ground and spewing out in front of me. This only prompted me to push myself harder, leaping over cracks in the road and kicking my way through the dirt.

Something slammed into the road directly in front of me and I didn't have enough time to stop—I tumbled down and landed hard on the pavement, my eyes streaming in pain from my skin's sudden contact with the gravel. I rolled over onto my back, searching for whatever had made the explosion—and cried out for the third time in five minutes as I saw clearly what had been chasing me.

The creature was huge and scaly, covered in what looked like black spikes that were oozing some sort of green pus. It had at least five legs, each with a claw that had to be at least ten inches long boring into the ground. Atop its main body were four scarlet eyes—the slit-pupiled eyes I had seen staring down at me from the window. All four of those eyes were turned on me now, and even as I screamed, a shrieking sound assaulted my ears, drowning out my cry and sending waves of pain shooting through my ear canal.

It raised one long leg and started to bring it down, ready to spear me on the spot, but with a rapidity I didn't even know I possessed I rolled sideways, falling into the ditch next to the road just as its claw smashed into the gravel where I had been lying, cracking the pavement in two with an ear-splitting crash.

I scrambled to my feet and began to run away again, ignoring the blood trickling down my arms and legs. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I dimly registered that there was no way I could outrun that thing, but my human survival instinct—_fight or flight—_had kicked in, and I knew I couldn't just stand in one spot and give up. I had to do _something._

The creature's agonizing cry sounded again, and through the wind rushing in my ears I could hear it thumping along after me, each blow of its legs sending a tremor through the earth. It was gaining on me with every step it took, and I had the horrible feeling that it was purposely not moving as fast as it could.

I changed direction abruptly, swerving to the right when I spotted an outcropping of rocks in the distance. If all else failed, I could hide behind one and see if I could use any of the smaller stones as weapons. Maybe if I hit the creature in all four of its eyes, it would become confused and I could manage to run…

A bright blue light burst out in front of me, and I skid to a stop, narrowly missing the sudden shimmering rectangle that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. It looked around six feet tall, and if I hadn't known better I would have guessed it was a doorway. Ethereal blue light glowed and danced inside, and I felt myself drawn to it, as if I was _meant _to go through.

The horrible screeching of the creature behind me had stopped, and I twisted around to see that it appeared to have become preoccupied with something else, its legs waving and twisting as it lunged at some unknown object. For a moment, I hesitated—was it after someone else?

But my head snapped around as I had a dim voice shriek out from somewhere in the distance: _"Run! Abby, run!" _It sounded familiar—_so _familiar, as if I had heard it a thousand times before, but it definitely wasn't my mother's voice, and it couldn't be any of my friends—

But the creature appeared to have heard it too, and it stopped attacking whatever hapless prey it had stumbled upon, and turned back around to face me. This time it didn't bother with running—it whirred into motion, streaking across the desert with a speed that could easily keep up with a sports car.

There was no way I would be able to reach the rocks, much less outrun it, and I would surely be killed if I stayed in the same spot for another second. I only had one chance, and it was completely against anything I would normally have done: as if someone else was inhabiting my mind, as if I didn't have control over my own body, I leapt forward and dove into the flickering blue doorway, feeling my body being sucked and twisted into an enormous, swirling vortex as the world fell away from around me.


	2. Two

**I just want to take a moment to thank the people who are still reading this, after that long and information-heavy first chapter. Thank you for still being here. :) As a reward for your patience, Jem and Will do appear in this chapter! :D**

* * *

**I** opened my mouth to scream as I hurtled downwards through the blue light, indistinct shapes flying around me, but no sound came out and I couldn't even close my eyes. A wave of nauseating dizziness washed over me as the spinning became faster and the shapes whizzed by at impossible speeds—

And then everything stopped as abruptly as if someone had turned off a switch, and I was thrown into darkness, landing hard on solid ground again.

I wasn't sure how I long I lay still, my face pressed into what felt like brick and trying to sort through what had happened. In the past ten minutes, I'd been chased and nearly killed by some sort of monster before jumping into a blue doorway that may or may not have symbolized my death.

So the question remained: was I dead, or had the past day merely been a vivid nightmare and I would open my eyes to my own bed with no danger but school looming in front of me?

The latter was a tempting option, to be sure, but I was certain that my imagination wasn't nearly so creative as to make up that monster, and besides, my bed wasn't nearly this uncomfortable.

I took a deep, shuddering breath—and then immediately started coughing as I inhaled a mouthful of something dusty and stifling, like I'd breathed in dirt. Every spasm sent another shock of pain through my ribs, and I forced myself to stumble to my feet, having to lean on the wall for support.

The _wall? _

Feeling panic rising up in my throat again, I mutely took in my new surroundings, concentrating on taking deep breaths so I wouldn't faint or throw up, which both seemed like viable options at the moment.

I was standing in a cramped, narrow alleyway that stank of garbage and something deeper, as if the very air itself was tainted. Distant shouts and clangs echoed all around me, and the sky was covered by a tangle of dark clouds, a dim patch of moonlight managing to shine through a gap in the fog.

This was surreal. I _had _to be dreaming. As strange as I knew the Shadow World was, I was sure there wasn't any portal that could transport me somewhere else entirely—

"_Portal,_" I groaned, and my head lolled back against the brick wall as I remembered that there _was_, in fact, a very object of the sort that could instantaneously transport someone anywhere in the world, although, from what Andrew Lightwood had told me all those years ago, it wasn't used very often since their design still had yet to be perfected and they could end up taking you to the opposite side of the globe than you intended.

So, a Portal must have magically materialized in front of me and I'd stupidly jumped through it, and now I could be absolutely anywhere in the world with no money and no way to get home. Did they appear when someone was in danger? Andrew Lightwood had never mentioned _that _part…but, at any rate, I knew I would be dead if it wasn't for the Portal.

The creature that had been chasing me, I guessed, had been a demon. But although I had occasionally seen flashes of them out of the corner of my eye my entire life, or noticed that a human was behaving slightly stranger than normal, nothing had ever been _that _corporeal; much less chased after me.

Could the demon have been what Mom was running from? Had it gotten _her? _And if she had been trying to escape, why hadn't she taken me along with her? Was it too late to save her?

Propelled by the thought that the demon had tracked her down as well, I began to move forward, noticing with dismay that my shoes were covered in blood and a trail of red footprints would lead anyone to where I found a place to hide. The logical thing to do would be removing my shoes, but there was no way I could get very far in socks and if I had to run again, I wouldn't have time to look where I was going.

Scuffing the bottom of my shoes against the ground to scrape off the worst of the blood, I gave myself a quick onceover. Miraculously, I hadn't broken anything, and I seemed to be none the worse for wear except for a bad cut slashed across my right cheek and scrapes on my elbows, hands and knees. The blood caked on my clothes gave me the appearance of being more injured than I actually was, which would hopefully be able to fool any enemy who would underestimate me.

As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I was surprised at myself: that had never been my thinking process, and I was notoriously terrible at thinking on my feet. But the events of the past hour had somehow kickstarted my brain into overdrive, as if a part of it had suddenly been activated that had been dormant before. Although I was still exhausted and would probably collapse once the adrenaline rush had worn off, I was able to think surprisingly clearly.

When I reached the end of the alleyway, I cautiously peeked around the side of the wall, unsure what I would see. Judging by the stench that rose up all around me and the constant noise, I was in a city, although it could have been anywhere from New York to Sydney. But the sight I was met with didn't look like _any _city I'd ever imagined.

Gaslamps lined the streets, their light burning low and casting eerie shadows over the cobblestone road. The buildings all looked precarious and I could see clothing hanging out of most of the windows, swaying slightly in the light breeze. The wind brought with it an even stronger reek, and I tried to keep my breathing as shallow as possible so as not to inhale any more air than I absolutely had to.

A strange clopping sound could be heard from around the corner, and I quickly drew back into the shadows of the alley to see a horse-drawn carriage rumble past, its driver dressed in a black suit and top hat like actors I'd seen in old movies. There was an odd symbol, like two snakes eating their own tails, carved onto the side of it, with the words _The Pandemonium Club _written in spiraling gold letters under the snake symbol. Was I in the poor part of town and the carriage was just tourists using an old-fashioned method of transportation? There were carriage rides in Golden Gate Park, although certainly not at night and in a neighborhood like this.

Had the Portal transported me to some sort of—parallel universe or something? I swallowed hard past the lump in my throat. Andrew Lightwood had never mentioned anything like _that, _although if I was on a different planet entirely, it would just have been polite for him to let me know in case I ever found myself in a situation like this.

At least there were no demons chasing me. I glanced automatically behind myself, my muscles relaxing when I ascertained that there was no danger. I hoped it would stay that way.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I started forward, down the cobblestone road in the direction where the horse and carriage had disappeared. Maybe I would be able to pretend I was simply lost and find someone who would know where I was.

The street was narrow and twisted in random directions, obscured by fog and smoke that seemed to hang heavily on the air. Gas lamps lit the way, and the buildings I passed were all shut tightly against the outside world. I could hear a distant rushing sound in my ears and there was a moist taste in my mouth: there must be a river nearby.

God, everything was so dreamlike. The mist covering my vision seemed to warp and twist everything so that I wasn't sure whether the buildings on either side of me were even real or not. No matter how much I blinked, my vision wouldn't clear. How could the carriage driver have even seen where he was going?

My gaze shifted across to the left, where I could see the railing of a ledge looming out of the fog, and two figures began to come into view, materializing out of the mist. I couldn't see them very clearly—aside from being shrouded in fog, their edges appeared to warp and glimmer, and when I looked directly at them they seemed to disappear—but I could tell they were both male, and I sensed that they were looking at me.

Not wanting to draw attention to myself, I ducked my head and pretended I hadn't noticed them, quickening my pace, but it was too late. "Excuse me!" a deep voice called after me. "Who are you?" It sounded polished and slightly arrogant, with a British accent, but I didn't have time to dwell on the particulars just then. I refused to look back at them and broke into a jog, despite my legs still aching from their near-brush with the demon. If I could find somewhere, anywhere, to hide—

"Come back!" the man continued, and I began to run faster, hearing their footsteps chasing after me. There was no way I could outrun two men, and I wasn't strong enough to fight them off…

Taking a sharp turn to the left, hoping to lose them, I hadn't gone more than ten feet when a blurred shape darted right in front of me. I slammed right into them, but they didn't so much as stagger backwards. A hand clamped over my mouth before I could scream, and I was yanked around, my head pressed against someone's shoulder. Just behind me stood the second figure, so close that I couldn't escape even if I'd managed to overcome one of them. I'd been cornered.

I tried to kick backwards, but my captor was holding me so tightly I could barely breathe. "If you make so much as one sound I will throw you into the Thames," that husky British voice said into my ear. "Do you understand?"

I nodded frantically, my eyes widening in terror. "Will, don't scare her," a second voice admonished. This one had a British accent as well, but his sounded slightly more refined, if not a bit exasperated.

"How do I know she'll listen otherwise?" the first one—Will—asked. Mercifully, I felt the hand being taken away from my mouth and I was free to breathe properly again. I sucked in greedy gasps of air, bending over and placing my hands on my knees. My arm was still twisted tightly in a death grip so I couldn't run away.

The moon suddenly broke through the clouds, and I was able to see my pursuers clearly. They weren't, as I'd first guessed, men—they looked to be around my age, hardly older than boys. The taller of the two, the one who had called out and grabbed me, was exceedingly handsome, with high cheekbones, fiery blue eyes, and a tangle of black hair. His eyes were narrowed at me, and he exuded confidence and superiority. The second boy had a calmer air about him, and he seemed less fazed by my appearance—perhaps that was because _his _appearance was odd as well. He had silver hair, so light that if I'd seen him from a distance I would have guessed he was an old man, and matching silver eyes, their dark pupils wide in the night air. The curve of his eyes made me guess he was Asian, or had some sort of Asian background.

"What do you think she is, James?" Will was asking. "She can't be just a mundane with the Sight, since there's no way any mundane can run that fast; she smells too horrible to be a vampire, she's not hairy enough to be a werewolf, and if she was a warlock she would have used magic to get away from me already. But she can see through glamours, so she has to be Nephilim although she doesn't have any Marks."

"How about," the second boy, James, said with a long-suffering air, "You try _asking _her?"

"Where's the fun in that?" But Will grudgingly continued, "What's your name?"

Thankfully, I couldn't see his face, and settled for staring at my feet as I mumbled, "Abby."

"Ah, an _American," _he drawled lazily. "No surname?" Even worse, I could hear something that sounded almost like amusement in his voice. He thought this was a game—he was making fun of me. Irrationally, I bit back tears and raised my face, unintentionally making eye contact with the silver-haired boy. He was staring curiously at me, but, unlike Will, there was no trace of hostility in his eyes. He looked kind, almost gentle, and it was him who made me answer the question fully.

"Cartwright," I said louder. "Abigail Cartwright."

"_Cartwright?" _Will asked incredulously. "That's impossible, we know the Cartwrights—"

"Not all of them, apparently," James interrupted, and he grinned at me, a strand of silver hair falling into his eyes. I would have smiled back if I wasn't so terrified.

"So what are you?" Will demanded. He took a step away from me, and I saw the black mark of a rune scribbled across the back of his hand, and I felt myself relax, if only infinitesimally. They were obviously Shadowhunters. Maybe they could help me…

"I'm Nephilim," I answered, glancing down out of the corner of my eye at a river rushing next to the bank we were standing on. It looked deep enough to jump in, and although swimming had never been my strong point it could be a last resort if I had to escape. "My mother is a mundane and my father was a Shadowhunter. But I've chosen to live a mundane life, so I'm not _technically _a Shadowhunter, but—" I knew I was babbling, but the words just kept tumbling out of my mouth.

Will suddenly shoved me away from him so that I was standing facing both of them, the river to my back. His eyes raked over my form, but not in a lecherous way—he was staring at my clothes with an incredulous glare, as if he had suddenly realized what they were. "What in the Angel's name are you _wearing?_"

"Um…" I stupidly glanced down at myself, as if my jeans and shirt had mysteriously vanished and been replaced with something else—although since everything _else _had changed, I wouldn't have been all surprised if I had suddenly found myself wearing a floor-length ball gown. "Clothes?"

The silver-haired boy's lips twitched. "She's got a point, Will."

Will gave a dissatisfied _humph_, and for the first time I worked up the courage to ask, "Where am I?"

"London," said James; the first time he had spoken directly to me. Now he looked slightly worried, as if he now knew that something wasn't quite right. "I'm Jem Carstairs and that's Will Herondale—"

"It can't be London," I interrupted; their names were not the first thing on my mind at the moment. I'd never left California in my life. "London doesn't look like—like _this! _If anything, this looks like something out of an old movie—"

"Movie?" Will asked incredulously. He repeated the word slowly, as if he had never heard it before. "Are you mad?"

A horrible, terrible suspicion was beginning to dawn on me. "The Portal," I gasped. "I thought it could only travel through distances. What…" My voice was shaking. "What year is it?"

The boys exchanged a glance. "1878," Jem finally answered. He reached out a hand, as if trying to comfort me, but I shied away from him.

"It's impossible," I breathed, but it made so much sense…the horse and carriage, the look of the city, the boys' mannerisms and their reactions toward me…at first I thought I'd been transported to another universe, but I'd been transported to another _time_. In my opinion, that was even worse.

My last, desperate hope was that I was still dreaming. And if I was dreaming, there was only one way to find out. Opening my mouth as if I was going to say something, I twisted around and dove into the rushing water below.

I heard a dim shout from above me, but it was too late—I had already gone under. It was absolutely _freezing_—all the breath I'd been saving was knocked out of me as I sank deeper, spots dancing in front of my eyes from the shock.

And then I felt something grab my leg and yank me down. I screamed soundlessly, thrashing and flailing as I tried to kick whatever had hold of me, but it was no use: through the murky, brown water that, had I been more lucid, I would have compared to the water at the motel, I could see a long tendril wrapped around my right leg, pulling me down further into the depths of the river, that, I realized, was far too deep for the Thames—

I began to black out then, my lungs screaming for air. The spots in front of my eyes had become all-consuming, and a horrible pain burst into my chest. My struggles became weaker, and through the haze of my oxygen-deprived brain I knew I was going to die.

I must have blacked out momentarily, since the next thing I was aware of was that the tendril was no longer squeezing my leg and I could feel myself being propelled back upward through the water, this time with a pair of arms wrapped tightly around my waist.

As soon as we broke the surface of the water I gasped for air, the spots rushing back with a dizzying force as I was hoisted back onto the bank, collapsing onto the mud. On my hands and knees, I coughed up what felt like half the Thames, not caring who was watching me. When the spasms had passed and I was able to breathe and see properly again, I looked up at the two boys who had rescued me. They were both soaking wet, and I felt a strange rush of gratitude at the fact that they'd jumped into the river. Jem was kneeling on the ground coughing loudly, and Will had a hand on his shoulder, saying something in a low voice to him. I caught the gleam of what I assumed was a seraph blade in Will's hand, covered with a thick green substance that I recognized as what had been dripping from the demon chasing me outside the motel.

Unsure what to do, I slowly staggered to my feet, knowing I couldn't try to run again. I was too weak, and the boys would be able to catch up with me immediately. I had no choice but to stay with them.

Several feet away, Jem stood up as well, waving away Will's offer of help, and for the first time I noticed he had a cane: the end was carved in the shape of a dragon's head, and he leaned heavily on it as he started towards me. He looked even paler than usual and the pupils of his eyes had grown even larger. I almost felt bad for making him look worse than he already did.

"Are you all right?" Jem asked me, as if _I _shouldn't be the one asking _him _if he was all right. "It was a Hydra Demon that almost got you—they'll often snatch up unwary people who fall into the river."

"Yes, I'm fine," I said thickly. "Thank you for…for saving me."

Will walked over then, wiping the blood off his blade and scowling at me. "I didn't completely kill it," he said. "You should have waited a moment longer to grab her, James."

"If I'd waited a moment longer she would have drowned," Jem said patiently. He began to blur out of focus again, and it took me a moment to realize I was shivering, the cold night air mixing with the water on my clothes.

"C—can someone p—please create a Portal that will g—get me back to 1978?" I asked, my voice whiny and pitiful. "I d—don't know how to do it myself…"

"Portal?" Jem asked at the same time Will said, "1978?"

A horrible thought struck me, and I stopped shivering in shock. What if the Portals weren't even _invented _yet? Would I be stuck a century in the past forever?

"Miss Cartwright," Jem began, and I winced at the sound of my name, "Do you mean to say that in the future, there exist Portals that can transport a Shadowhunter to a different place and time?"

"It makes sense," Will snorted. "Look at her _clothes_." But he exchanged another meaningful look with Jem, and I was sure I saw something like anxiety pass through it. If _they _were unsure of what to do, how should _I _feel?

The world began to spin around me, and my breathing hitched as my heart pounded crazily. I could feel nausea rising up inside me again, and I turned my head to the side and retched, but nothing came out.

"She's going into shock," Jem muttered. I saw him limp over to me and he looped his arm around mine, holding me upright so I wouldn't fall over. Surprisingly, his arm felt almost fragile and breakable, as if he could fall to pieces at any moment. He must have an extraordinary amount of hidden strength if he was able to lift me out of the water.

"Bring her to the Institute," Will instructed, and my ears perked up. Surely the London Institute would have some idea of what to do with me. "I'll finish off the demon." When Jem hesitated, he said, "You're hardly in better shape than she is, James. I can take care of the Hydra myself." He cast me an angry glare as he said this, as if it was my fault that Jem had weakened.

After another moment, Jem nodded and unlatched his arm from around mine. "Can you walk on your own, Miss Cartwright?"

I nodded and took a hesitant step forward. "I—I think so."

Behind us, Will was already readying for another jump into the water: he'd pulled out another blade and was pacing up and down the length of the bank, as if trying to figure out the best way to enter. "Use her blood on the door to see if she really is Nephilim," he said carelessly as we began to walk away, turning around and barely giving me another glance. "She's already bleeding enough anyway."

Jem and I started back up to the road. I automatically turned when I heard a distant splash and saw that Will had disappeared. "He'll be fine," Jem reassured me, as if I cared about how he fared after he'd been so rude to me. "Hydra demons are nothing to be worried about if you're trained well enough."

"Oh," I said in a small voice, unsure how to respond. "So…you're taking me to the Institute, then?"

"It's the best place for you to be right now," he replied. "If any Downworlders heard of you, you would be dead right now. Despite the fact that we fight demons and warlocks can use magic, time-traveling has, surprisingly, not been invented yet."

I glanced sideways at him, shocked that I didn't hear any malice or annoyance in his voice. "You're not angry at me?"

Jem met my gaze, his wide silver eyes looking surprised. "Why would I be angry at you?"

"Well…I ruined your night and you were nearly killed trying to save me."

He laughed out loud, and for the first time since I'd been at home, I felt myself smile back. "We're Shadowhunters—killing demons is our job. We risk death every day. And we're obliged to aid our fellow Nephilim, no matter what place or, in your case, I suppose, time period they come from."

"And Will?" I thought of the exasperation in his voice, his angry glare whenever he looked at me.

"Will thrives on danger. I'm sure he's enjoying every second of it." Jem grinned wryly. "This is the most exciting thing that's happened to him in weeks."

We turned onto another street and I couldn't help but gaze over at London, at the landscape that was so different from the modern San Francisco I was used to, a city so ancient that I felt as if all the secrets of the world were hidden between every brick, tucked behind every building…I couldn't stop my eyes from widening as I spotted an enormous grand cathedral, which towered majestically over the rest of the buildings.

"That's St Paul's," Jem explained to me. "London is a fascinating city—provided you're in the right part of it, of course. Westminster Abbey is even grander, and so is Blackfriars Bridge…I can show them to you during the day if you'd like." He was talking matter-of-factly, as if a girl from a century into the future getting stuck in nineteenth-century London was something that happened all the time.

I couldn't help but look at him suspiciously. "Why aren't you asking me any questions about myself? Don't you want to know what the future is like?"

His smile didn't falter. "I'm sure I'll find out the answer later when you speak to Charlotte. I won't force you to tell me anything you don't want to."

Two questions were running through my mind: did he have some sort of ulterior motive? I'd only known him for twenty minutes and I'd never met anyone as kind as him. And if he didn't have some sort of ulterior motive, why weren't there any boys like him in _my _time?

"I'm sorry that I can't use an _iratze _to heal you," Jem said after a minute of silence. Noticing my frown, he nodded at my still-bleeding hand and said, "There's no telling how you would react to any Marks now since you haven't taken the vows."

"It's fine," I told him. "It doesn't really bother me anymore." Feeling like I had to say something or else the full weight of what had happened would overwhelm me, I asked, "So do you live at the Institute?"

Jem nodded. "Both Will and I do—we don't have any other family. There's another girl our age too—" But he was abruptly cut off by a fit of choking, flinging his arm up over his mouth and the coughs wracking his entire body. I stopped hesitantly, awkwardly standing there and not sure what to do. Should I go back and find Will?

But before I could make up my mind, Jem straightened up and smiled. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "It's nothing to worry about."

My eyes were wide. Before he had lowered his sleeve, I'd seen a glimpse of blood on the fabric that I was certain hadn't been there before. "Are you sure?" I asked, momentarily forgetting about the blood caking on my own clothes. "I mean…coughing up blood isn't such a good thing in 1978 either—"

"Miss Cartwright, please don't worry about it," he said, kindly but firmly. "I am fine."

I had a sudden vision of Jem collapsing to the ground and Will blaming me for it—he already blamed me for what had happened in the river. But instead of pressing the point, I said, "Call me Abby. Miss Cartwright sounds too formal. No one talks like that in—where I'm from."

"They don't?" Jem asked, sounding interested. "Well, Shadowhunters call each other by their given names, but I wasn't sure how you wanted to be addressed. Oh, there's the Institute now. It used to be the Church of All-Hallows-The-Less until it burned down in the Great Fire of London," he added. I followed his gaze to where I could see a grand old church on the corner of a busy street, where men in dark coats swarmed out of shops even at this hour. But the second I turned my gaze away from it, it disappeared and all I saw was an ordinary patch of land.

Jem must have seen the awe on my face, for he said, "You're not used to seeing through glamours yet, but with enough time and practice it will become second nature." I noticed we were coming up to a wrought-iron gate, and before my eyes it swung open, leading into a courtyard where I could more clearly see the architecture of the Institute. It was intricate yet not overly magnificent; I wondered if the one in Los Angeles looked similar.

"How did the gates—" I began, but trailed off when I saw a handsome man with a thick tangle of brown hair walking up toward us. Despite the lateness of the hour, his smile was every bit as charming as Jem's.

"Hello, Thomas," Jem told him as he loped up to us, staring at me curiously. "We have a new visitor, it seems."

"So I see," Thomas said, and inclined his head to me. "Good evening, miss—or should I say good morning."

I couldn't help but smile. "Thank you. I'm Abigail Cartwright."

"Cartwright?" he repeated, and his eyes slid over to Jem, who gave a tiny shrug.

"Shall we go inside?" Jem asked me, and we began to head up the stairs to the front door. He cast me a questioning glance, and I remembered what Will had said about using my blood on the door. Taking a deep breath, I swiped some blood off my hand and placed it on the handle. I didn't expect anything to happen, but to my surprise the door swung open.

Jem looked pleased. "It appears that you are indeed one of us," he said, and graciously held the door open to where I stepped inside a grand entryway. The walls were built of stone and torches burned high on the walls, reminding me of a medieval castle. It was disappointingly even colder in here than it had been outside.

"Charlotte? Henry?" Jem called as he led me through the entryway into another identical hallway, with what looked like an endless stretch of doors branching away from us. I was already lost just from standing in one place; it was much larger than it had looked from the outside.

One of the doors opened at Jem's call and a tiny woman stepped out. She had light brown hair pulled back into a high bun and although she appeared to be wearing a robe—didn't they call it a dressing-gown in England?—under a nightgown, her expression was wary and alert. I smiled hesitantly at her as Jem explained who I was and how they had come across me. Charlotte's hand went to her mouth when he came to the part about being from the future.

"I'm sorry to bother you—" I began, but she shook her head, recovering almost immediately.

"I'm Charlotte Branwell, the head of the Institute. Its very purpose is to assist Shadowhunters in need," she said. "You look exhausted; you don't have to explain anything until tomorrow. I'll get one of the Silent Brothers to have a look at you—" She beckoned me up a flight of stairs I hadn't previously noticed; they appeared so quickly I wondered if they hadn't, in fact, been there before. I went up three before I realized that Jem wasn't following me. Pausing, one hand on the railing, I looked quizzically at him, somewhat disappointed.

"You need to sleep," he told me, smiling. "I'd better go see how Will is faring."

"Oh, all right," I said. "Thank you for bringing me back here."

"It was no trouble at all," he assured me, but his smile had turned into a frown, as if he was planning on saying something else but thought better of it. I turned around and started up the stairs, expecting him to leave, but instead I heard a voice call "Abby!"

I questioningly turned back to him, sensing that Charlotte had paused and was waiting for me. "Why didn't you ask me why I was coughing?" he asked.

Remembering his words from earlier, I said, "I won't force you to tell me."

The biggest grin of all appeared on his face, and, again, I couldn't help but smile to myself as I followed Charlotte upstairs and around the corner until he disappeared from my view.


	3. Three

**The story should start to get interesting soon. :) Tessa will appear in the next few chapters. Again, I'd like to thank everyone who has read thus far. You're the best! :D**

* * *

**T**he next five minutes seemed to pass in a confusing blur; I was only dimly aware of Charlotte leading me into a room with a large four-poster bed and another woman kneeling in the corner lighting a fireplace. _Since when do they have fireplaces in bedrooms? _I thought, my mind a hazy blank. Charlotte asked me something, but I barely registered what it was: the moment my head touched the pillow, I was gone, drifting into a thankfully dreamless sleep.

When I next became aware of the world, I felt as if I was floating underwater: experiencing everything from afar instead of being an active participant. Unfortunately, there was no blissful forgetfulness where I couldn't remember what had happened to me—my memories were all fully intact…the two demons that had nearly killed me, jumping into the Thames hoping that everything had been a dream and that I would wake up, Will and Jem, the Institute, Charlotte leading me upstairs into a bedroom…

"Miss Cartwright?" a voice asked, and my eyes opened. I was staring up at Charlotte herself. She had a small, encouraging smile on her face, but she looked worried and slightly nervous, as if she had been pondering a particularly vexing problem for hours. I supposed, with my sudden appearance, she probably had.

"You've slept for nearly twelve hours. How are you feeling?" she asked, and for the first time I noticed that I was no longer in my jeans and sweater, but wearing a long silver dress with ruffles at the collar and hem. My hair was shiny and felt freshly washed, wrapped up in a tight bun with tendrils dangling over my face. I felt ridiculous and the dress was scratchy and uncomfortable, as if I was in an old-fashioned play. Nevertheless, my strange attire was the least of my worries at the moment.

"Sore," I admitted, wincing as I became aware of a slow burn in my legs. I was certain I'd run more in the past day than I had in my whole life combined. Wanting to see the room they'd put me in, I slowly propped myself up on my elbows and sat up.

The bed was enormous, big enough for at least three people to lie in comfortably. A canopy hung down from the ceiling, obscuring the area immediately next to the bed. Directly across the room, a fire roared in the grate, adding a merry feeling to an otherwise gloomy atmosphere. There was a table sitting in front of the fire with two chairs tucked under it, and a more comfortable-looking armchair was pushed against the wall. A screen stood in the other corner, and I could see the outline of what looked like a bathtub behind it.

After I'd taken inventory of the room, I turned my attention to Charlotte, who was hovering over my bed, a concerned look on her face. I tried to muster a smile to prove that I was all right…physically, at least. Mentally, my mind was still in turmoil.

My hand automatically reached for the purse slung around my neck, and I immediately began to panic when I realized it was no longer there. "My…my purse," I said to Charlotte, trying to sound as calm as I could. "Do you know where it is?"

She nodded, pointing across the room to the table, where a rush of relief soared through me. In my quick sweep of the room, I had failed to notice that it was hanging over the side of one of the chairs.

"Your journal was not too wet," said Charlotte. She stood up—moving swiftly for such a small woman—and retrieved the purse, bringing it back over to me. I took it gratefully, hugging it close to my chest. "The picture is slightly faded, but hardly the worse for wear."

Fighting the urge to ask her _You know what a picture is? _I unzipped the purse and stared down at its contents. My house key and wallet—well, it didn't look like I'd be needing them anytime soon—were still there, along with the picture and my father's journal, as promised. But to my discomfort, the pages of the journal were folded slightly back, as if someone had been flipping through them.

There were a thousand questions swimming through my brain, but I stared up at Charlotte and blurted out: "You read it?"

"Yes," she said, not looking embarrassed in the least. "I apologize, Miss Cartwright, but it was necessary in case there was any useful information." She paused. "Your father sounds like a very pleasant man."

"I guess so_,"_ I mumbled, sighing and refusing to meet her eyes. For years, it had been my private journal. I had never showed it to any of my friends, and the idea of a stranger reading it seemed horribly intrusive, although I understood why she had to read it. "I never knew him."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Charlotte said, and there was blunt honesty in her voice, not the fake pity that I usually got when I told someone that my father was dead. Or, in this case, that he wasn't born yet. It gave me an odd feeling in the pit of my stomach. How could I still exist if my parents, my _grandparents_, weren't even around?

Lost in my thoughts, I barely noticed Charlotte's next sentence. "I called in one of the Silent Brothers to examine you. Brother Enoch?" she called, and the door swung open to reveal a tall man in parchment-colored robes marked with strange tribal designs I recognized as runes. I felt slightly uneasy as I strained to see the face beneath the hood, and jumped backward with a startled yell of surprise when he actually did raise his arms to lower it.

His face was pale, scarred with runes. But that wasn't what made me gasp: it was his eyes; or rather, his _lack _of them. They were empty sockets, staring unseeingly at me. His mouth was similarly stitched up, and it took all my strength not to leap out of bed and as far away from him as I could get.

_Abigail Lucie Cartwright, _an unfamiliar voice sounded inside my head. I started: I had not heard it aloud, and it was decidedly male, but it echoed around my mind as if someone had spoken it. I knew, vaguely, that the Silent Brothers were doctors and archivists of sorts, but Andrew Lightwood had never mentioned they could speak directly into your mind. Then again, I supposed there were a lot of things he had never told me.

"Y—yes?" I squeaked, glancing over at Charlotte for support. She seemed unfazed, so I assumed she had gotten used to the Brothers' peculiar way of communicating. I could almost hear Will snapping, "Well, they're called _Silent _Brothers for a reason."

_You are physically healthy and unscathed despite your close encounters with the demons. I see that you were content living a mundane life, but it appears that is not in your destiny. I have found no clues in your mind to how the Portal, as you call it, might have appeared when you were being pursued by a Greater Demon. Such a thing has never happened in my memory, although I will have to consult the other Brothers and look through the archives in the Silent City. At any rate, it appears that you have no way of getting back to your time, at least for the moment. This is very strange, the likes of which have never been seen before. _

"But…" I swallowed. "Is there a possibility that I might be able to get back to my own time?"

There was a long pause before Brother Enoch answered. _There might be. But this has opened up an entirely new set of problems. Your appearance may mean that there are others who have experienced something similar._

Charlotte gave a little gasp. "So she might not be the only time-traveller?"

_There is no certainty. If there were others, there is no guarantee that they would be sent to this time. _

"Should I tell the Clave of this, then?"

_I believe that should be up to Abigail to decide. I will not tell them this, as with their current disposition it may divide them even more than they already are at present. This is a private matter; but, again, the combined intelligence of the Clave may result in useful discoveries. Additionally, if Abigail wishes to become a Shadowhunter, she may take the Vows. It cannot hurt to have one more young Shadowhunter being trained, as there are so few of them already._

Charlotte nodded once; she looked very diminutive next to Brother Enoch's tall frame. Her petite figure and quiet strength reminded me of my own mother—but somehow, I doubted that Charlotte would be one to run off with her daughter just because she thought something was chasing her. "Thank you, Brother."

Enoch inclined his head once to both of us, and then disappeared out of the room, making no sound in passing. My gaze immediately went to Charlotte, imploring and pleading. "Can the Silent Brothers read minds?" I asked. "Is that how he knew so much about me?"

"Of a sort," she agreed, folding her hands in her lap. "I would not exactly use the mundane definition of a mind-reader, however, for it is much more complicated than that. At any rate, if the Silent Brothers themselves do not know how you came to be here or how to send you back…and I thought we were burdened with enough problems as it was." But she immediately backtracked when she saw my face. "I did not mean it like that," she corrected. "I apologize; I simply meant that an already complicated situation is going to become even more complicated."

"So what do you want me to do now?" I asked slowly. "Surely the Silent Brothers won't come up with a solution right away—" There was a knock at the door and it opened to reveal a dark-haired woman wearing a simple black dress and carrying a tray of food. I vaguely recognized her as the one who had been tending the fireplace last night.

"Oh, thank you, Sophie," Charlotte said as the woman placed the tray on the table next to the fire. "I had dinner ordered up here in case you did not feel like eating with the others. Are you hungry, Miss Cartwright?" she asked me.

Sophie lifted the lid on one of the trays and I saw a platter of what looked like chicken and peas neatly arranged on a plate, with a glass of fizzing liquid next to it. My stomach growled, and despite my fear I nodded eagerly, pushing myself up off the bed and tottering unsteadily across the room. The dress was too tight around the waist and I had to struggle to breathe; I had to gather the skirts up with my hand in order to avoid tripping. I thought longingly of my ruined jeans and sweater—I'd never fully appreciated modern clothes until now.

"Sophie is our maid," Charlotte explained. "She is a mundane, but has the gift of the Sight. I wouldn't be able to run the Institute without her."

I smiled hesitantly at Sophie, who smiled back after a moment. As she bent down to tend to the fire, I caught sight of a horrible, grotesque scar stretching the entire left side of her face. I was grateful that she wasn't looking at me, for my eyes had widened in shock, but I was sure she heard my quick intake of breath as she stood up and turned away without meeting my eyes again.

"If you do not mind, Miss Cartwright—" Charlotte began.

"Call me Abby, please," I asked as I sat down in the chair and took a sip of the sparkling liquid in the glass. It had a strong taste to it, and burned as it slid down my throat. I was being served _wine? _But, then again, the drinking age for Shadowhunters was sixteen.

"Abby," Charlotte repeated. She sat down in the chair on the other side of the table, watching me as I ate. "I would be very grateful if you were to tell us everything you know about your situation and how you came to be here. You can choose to tell me in private, or you can come downstairs later and explain to everyone."

I pretended to bite into a roll while I considered. It would certainly be easier to explain in private, where I didn't have at least four pairs of eyes judging me…but, as Brother Enoch had said, the more people who knew about my situation, the more people who could help me. Besides, I was struck by a desire to see Will and Jem again so I could properly thank them for rescuing me and apologize for jumping into the river. It had been an extraordinarily stupid idea, I knew now, but at the time it had seemed like the only logical thing to do.

Glancing up and realizing Charlotte was still waiting for an answer, I said, "I'll explain to everyone. It's not as if they wouldn't eventually find out."

She looked relieved; I could tell she'd had the same train of thought I had. "Very well. I will go gather the others. Sophie, could you show Abby the dining hall when she is finished eating?"

"Of course, Mrs Branwell," Sophie said, and after another quick smile at me Charlotte left, closing the door behind her.

There was a rather awkward silence in which I ate and tried not to stare at Sophie's scar, which seemed even more conspicuous to me now that I was trying to pretend I didn't notice it. She busied herself around the room, straightening out the bed and throwing more kindling into the fire. I had no idea how to act around servants, and wasn't sure if I was supposed to ignore her or order her around. Did they even have the same etiquette as mundanes? Feeling horribly uncomfortable, I tried, "Charlotte seems as if she is doing a good job of running the Institute."

"She does," Sophie agreed, but added, "You should try convincing the Consul of that."

"The Consul?" I repeated. "Isn't that the head of the Clave?"

Sophie nodded. "His name is Josiah Wayland. He answers to Mrs Branwell."

"If he doesn't like her, why did he appoint her in the first place?" I asked, but Sophie, seeming to sense that she had revealed too much, glanced over at my empty plate and glass and hurried to gather them up.

"Are you ready to meet the others?" she asked, glancing at my dress to make sure I hadn't ripped or torn it. "The dress is slightly small for you, but I suppose there is nothing I can do about it."

"Whose is it?" I asked. It looked far too large for Charlotte, and Sophie had said that it was too small for me.

"There is another girl here, Miss Jessamine, who does not wear most of her dresses. She will not even notice this one is missing," Sophie proclaimed, and I remembered that Jem had mentioned there was another girl our age living at the Institute.

"She must have a lot of dresses, then," I laughed nervously, trying to quell my fear.

"Yes." Sophie's tone was clipped and short as she opened the door, stepping aside so I could pass through it first. I felt ridiculous in the dress—it was even tighter at the waist than I had originally thought and billowed out at the bottom, brushing the floor and hiding my feet from view. There were so many laces and ties on it that I despaired about trying to get undressed at night. My hair was pulled back so tightly that my scalp was already sore, and the way that both Sophie and Charlotte walked—very graceful and poised—was completely lost on me.

But Sophie was patient and slowed down to my pace as we navigated down the set of stairs I remembered from the night before and through a magnificent hallway with the same repeating pattern over and over printed on the tapestries: an angel rising out of a lake, holding a cup in one hand and a sword in the other. It wasn't at all familiar to me, and I was about to ask Sophie what it meant when she stopped in front of a pair of grand oak doors, beyond which I could hear low chatter and the clattering of cutlery.

"The dining hall, miss," she said to me, and began to retreat. I turned back after her, confused.

"Aren't you going to stay and listen to my story?" I knew I was whining, but I didn't want to have to enter the room alone.

Sophie shook her head. "There are things to be done, miss."

"But I would have thought…I would have thought that everyone wants to know what the future is like." _That's what it's like in movies, _I silently thought, but, of course, this was real life and I couldn't compare Shadowhunters and mundanes.

"What is the point of knowing about the future if you are not going to be around to experience it?" Sophie asked. I considered that; I'd never thought of that point before. Would I want to know what 2078 would be like if I had the chance? I supposed it wouldn't really matter to me.

Feeling very self-conscious, I turned back around and hesitantly pushed open the door to the dining-hall. I wasn't sure how many people lived in the Institute—although it looked as if it could have housed hundreds of Shadowhunters comfortably. I expected a crowd—but stopped short when I realized there were only five people in the room, seated at a long table that was evidently built for much more.

A large gasolier hung in the centre of the room, illuminating the white tablecloth. A mirror was built into the side of the wall, running the entire length of the room. It was open, airy, and for the first time I didn't feel as if I was in a medieval castle.

"Abby!" Charlotte greeted me first, and I smiled shyly, unable to look anyone in the eye. "Please take a seat."

Concentrating on not tripping over the hem of my dress, I walked over to the table and sat in the closest seat to the door, which was, I realized too late, facing the line of five people with no one on my side, so it was as if I was being interrogated. But it was too late now to change my seat, so I settled for studying their expressions.

Charlotte was seated at the head of the table, smiling at me gently but with a hint of steel in her eyes, as if she couldn't wait to hear the full explanation. Next to her was a ginger-haired man I'd never seen before, with a rather unfortunate clothing choice of orange polka dots and green stripes. He was blinking at me rather confusedly, as if I'd suddenly appeared out of thin air. Jem and Will were next, seated beside each other. Will was balancing on the bottom two legs of his chair, his dark hair falling into his eyes and looking infuriatingly handsome. His expression held the usual disdain I had already gotten used to, but there was a curiosity deep in his eyes. Jem, on the other hand, was leaning forward and staring kindly at me, his eyes wide and open. My dress was, I realized, the exact color of his hair and eyes.

And two seats away from Will, looking as if she would rather be anywhere than where she currently was, was a stunningly beautiful girl, her features somewhat marred by the scowl on her face. Like me, she had brown eyes and blonde hair, but she was absolutely gorgeous, one of the prettiest girls I'd seen. She wore an extravagant purple dress that looked ten times more expensive than mine. This must be Jessamine, I figured.

My suspicions were confirmed a moment later when Charlotte said, "Abby, this is my husband, Henry—" she indicated the ginger-haired man, who jumped slightly at the sound of his name, "—You've already met Will and Jem, and this is Jessamine Lovelace."

"Hello," I said awkwardly to the table at large. "So there are only five of you, then?"

"Eight," Jem said before Charlotte could answer. "There are also Sophie, Thomas, and the cook Agatha. I suppose we could call you the ninth resident." He smiled at me, and my own smile turned genuine. I'd never met anyone who smiled so much and so sincerely. Most people's smiles were vacuous with nothing to them. Jem's smile was honest and made me feel as if he could see straight through to my soul but accepted me anyway. This was in stark contrast to Will's vacuous smirk, which never reached his eyes.

"You're the girl from the future!" Henry said suddenly, pointing at me.

Charlotte's exasperation with her husband was apparent even to me. "Yes, Henry," she said patiently. "Abby is going to explain to us about herself." She glanced back at me as if expecting me to begin.

Taking my cue, I took a deep breath before beginning to speak, but just as I got the first word out Jessamine spoke up, her voice haughty and even more unfriendly than Will's. "She can't be telling the truth. Time-travel is impossible. She probably ran away from home and is too cowardly to admit it."

"No—" I began, but I was already flailing. What if the others believed her and would dismiss me as a liar?

To my surprise, Will spoke up. "We found her covered in blood and wearing the strangest clothes I had ever seen, Jessie," he said. "That would be a very elaborate lie."

I shot him a grateful glance, but he didn't look at me. Jessamine let out a displeased noise and stuck her chin out condescendingly. Hating my tendency to display my emotions on my face, I looked back at Charlotte, sure that my dismay was evident. She had shot Jessamine a hard look, but at my silent plea she turned back to me. "Go ahead," she encouraged. Henry was watching me eagerly, like a dog waiting for its master to speak, and Jem still had that patient, kind smile on his face. At least I knew the three of them didn't hate me—or at least, they were doing a very good job of hiding it.

So I began to speak, to the three of them more than I was to Will and Jessamine. I told them about my father, how he had left the Clave to marry a mundane and snuck back to the Los Angeles Institute when his family was in trouble and killed fighting a demon. I told them about my upbringing in San Francisco, and how Andrew Lightwood had arrived at my house when I was twelve to explain to me about the Shadow World. ("_Lightwood?" _Will exclaimed in disappointment. "I was hoping they wouldn't reproduce.") I told them that I had just wanted to live a normal life, and how my mother had often proclaimed that we were in danger and we would have to hide for several days at a time, although she would never explain why. And I told them about how she had wanted us to go to the Los Angeles Institute to see my grandmother.

"Did you say that your grandmother is the head of the Los Angeles Institute?" Charlotte asked at this point. "And she lives completely alone?"

I nodded.

"Well," she muttered to herself, looking pleased, "At least they'll come to their senses eventually."

I told them about how my mother had disappeared and how I'd seen the dark shape moving past the cars. (At this point Henry had enquired what a car was, and I'd tried my best to explain to him until Charlotte had reminded him that that wasn't the purpose of my story). Then I told them about the demon that had chased me through the desert until the mysterious Portal had appeared in front of me and I'd jumped through it and landed in the alleyway. It was only after I'd said the last sentence that I remembered I hadn't mentioned the voice yelling at me to run.

There was a ringing silence the second I'd finished. Henry was the first one to speak. "What exactly did this Portal look like?" he asked, his bright green eyes eager from under his mane of shaggy red hair.

"Um, well, it looked like a doorway that was about six feet tall," I said eloquently, mentally cursing myself and wishing I had a better way with words. "And inside was this shimmering sort of blue light. I couldn't see anything past it…but I felt so strange, like it wasn't even me who would choose to jump through it. I'm not the kind of person who likes to take risks," I said lamely.

"So are you certain that this Andrew Lightwood didn't tell you that these, as you call them, Portals, could bring you to different times?" Charlotte asked.

"I don't know about a time," I said again, "But I know that they do transport you to different places. He never told me anything about times, but I'm sure he would have—"

"So we'll go with the assumption that it is a strange anomaly," Charlotte said. She glanced around the assembled group. "Now we have to make a decision. If we speak to the members of the Clave about this, they may be able to help us. But if word gets out that Abby is a time-traveller…" She trailed off, looking at me thoughtfully.

"Perhaps we can see if Henry is able to figure something out," Jem suggested. "If he can't, then we'll tell the Clave."

"That's a terrible idea," Jessamine said snidely.

"Why?" I asked. "If he does manage to send me back to my own time without the Clave knowing about it, it will save a lot of uproar."

"I daresay Henry won't be able to invent anything unless you want to end up cut in half between both times," Will said cuttingly. Henry looked hurt.

"I think that sounds like a fair idea," Charlotte interrupted. "For the time being, Abby can stay here."

"Are you sure?" I asked. "I mean, I've caused enough trouble already…"

"Perhaps we should inform Consul Wayland and he can escort her back to California," suggested Will. "With any luck, he will stop for shade under a palm tree and a coconut will fall onto his head. I am certain that it will not diminish his already woefully limited intelligence."

"She is staying here and that is final," Charlotte said firmly. "Now how are we going to introduce her to the Clave? She can't stay a Cartwright…"

"Maybe she can," Jem said, appraising me. "There are enough of them, anyway, and it's unlikely that they'll ask too many questions. She does certainly look like one of them."

"I know," Charlotte agreed, biting her lip in thought. "It's just that the Cartwrights are…" She hesitated, apparently searching for the right word.

"Lunatics?" Will suggested. Jem frowned at him and Jessamine snorted, the first expression of amusement I'd seen her give.

"Unique," corrected Charlotte. "But I'm sure she would fit in fine as a distant cousin or something of the sort—"

"She could be Jessamine's sister," Will suggested. "Although much less attractive, of course, but I suppose there's always one in the family—"

"William, that's enough." Charlotte's voice was quiet but firm. I felt as if a lead weight had dropped into my stomach.

"No, it's fine," I mumbled, feeling color flood my cheeks. My eyes burned, but I refused to look up. "I've been called worse." No matter what Will said, he couldn't possibly be worse than the boys at school who had jeered and laughed at me talking to my father's grave and had thrown rocks at it after I'd left.

"I would imagine so," muttered Will under his breath, but it was enough. I couldn't stop the tears that gathered at my eyes, and I swatted them away. It wasn't just his comments that were hurtful, but the stress of the entire situation. I didn't belong here. I was foreign in so many ways. I knew that I was so far removed from everyone else. It felt as if there was a layer of glass between me and everyone else, preventing me from getting too close.

"Leave," Charlotte said, very quietly. I glanced up, startled, thinking she was talking to me, but she was looking at Will.

He made to stand up, but Jem placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered something to him very quietly. To my shock, he met my eyes for the first time and twisted his face into what was almost an apologetic smile. "I am very sorry, Miss Cartwright," he said formally, with a tone to his voice that would have almost been believable.

Jessamine laughed again. "You're not fooling anyone, Will."

But years of bullying had taught me that sometimes it was best to do what they least expected, so I turned to Charlotte and said, "It's all right, Mrs Branwell. He can stay. I shouldn't let words get to me."

She looked just as surprised, but nodded. The atmosphere at the table had tensed, and I noticed nobody had touched their food since I'd begun my story.

"All right," Charlotte said after a long silence that had grown increasingly more uncomfortable with each second that passed. "You may remain a Cartwright. Your parents raised you in America and when they died in a demon attack you were sent here, to the London Institute. That should be acceptable enough for the Clave."

"What about her Marks?" Jem asked. "She is Nephilim, but not a Shadowhunter."

"That is the second problem," replied Charlotte. "If she is to stay here, the Clave will require that she take the vows and become a full Shadowhunter."

Everyone's gazes turned to me, and I swallowed hard. Become a Shadowhunter? The life had never appealed to me. My mother would have never wanted this for me…but on the other hand, my father had been a Shadowhunter. It was part of my heritage. And I remembered the way I had felt the night before, as if I could handle anything and everything. "I'll become a Shadowhunter," I agreed after a moment of silence, with the sinking feeling that I was digging my own grave.

"Are you sure?" Charlotte asked. "It's no light decision…"

"Perhaps, but as you said, I have nowhere else to go. Besides, I know enough about this world to feel confident that it is something I might learn to deal with in time. If I have the proper training, I would be willing to learn." What I didn't voice aloud was the thought that when I got back to the future, I would immediately give it up, so it would only be a short-term occupation.

"Don't you think she's caused enough problems already?" Jessamine asked spitefully. "You're already on uncertain terms with the Clave, Charlotte, and now you propose that we outright lie to them. This girl is a nuisance who would be better off on the street."

"I agree," Will added, but his tone was laced with sarcasm. "We were living a life of happiness and peace before _she _came along, throwing us all into uncertainty and fear. I fear that we will have to resort to mutiny and cannibalism next. Send her to the gallows, I say."

I blanched. Charlotte glared at Will. "We have a duty to assist any Nephilim who need aid. Now, I will send for the Clave tomorrow and Abby can take the vows if she still wishes. The question remains, however, as to who will train her. Will, Jem, both of you are experienced Shadowhunters who can teach Abby the basics—"

"She sounds like Henry's problem, not ours," Will interrupted, casting me a hard glance. "Neither Jem nor I have the time or interest to train another Shadowhunter who will probably turn out like Jessamine—"

"I'd be willing to help," Jem said mildly at the same time Jessamine snapped, "And _what _exactly is wrong with turning out like me?"

"Will, that's enough," Charlotte said firmly, turning to me. I was surprised; he'd almost sounded like he was defending me before he had made another cutting remark. "I think we are finished here. Would you like to go back up to your room, Abby? You can have some time to yourself before tomorrow."

"Actually," I said quietly, "I wouldn't mind it if someone were to show me around the Institute. I don't want to get lost."

"Women are usually not so forward with their demands," said Jessamine, but everyone ignored her.

"I'll show her," Jem offered, jumping up and starting towards the door. I was more than grateful that he was the one who had agreed to be my guide, but at the same time I wondered what exactly I had gotten myself into.


	4. Four

**I** breathed a sigh of relief as soon as I was free from the gazes of the Shadowhunters in the dining hall; I'd felt like a bug under a microscope the entire time. I turned to Jem to tell him this, but closed my mouth when I realized he probably wouldn't understand what I meant. Had microscopes been invented yet? I had absolutely no idea.

Instead I blurted out, "They hate me."

Jem looked surprised. "No, they don't! They're just curious."

"But Will and Jessamine—"

"—Are like that to everyone." He smiled encouragingly at me, but it didn't make me feel any better. "They've acted worse, believe me."

I sighed. "Will's not horrible to _you_."

"Because I'm his _parabatai,_" Jem told me. "It would make for a rather unhappy partnership if we didn't get along."

"_Parabatai?_" I asked curiously, not recognizing the term.

Jem nodded. "Two Shadowhunters can choose to become partners if they wish, drawing on each other's strengths during battle. They are closer than brothers."

I was about to ask how exactly he and Will had become so close—they were complete opposites—when one of the tapestries on the wall caught my attention. It was the pattern I hadn't understood that I'd seen when I was with Sophie, the one with the angel rising out of the lake. "What does that mean?" I asked, pointing at it.

"The Angel Raziel and the Mortal Instruments," Jem told me. "He was the angel who gave Jonathan Shadowhunter his blood. All Shadowhunters are descended from him. There are three Instruments: the Mortal Mirror—the lake where Raziel is said to have ascended from is Lake Lyn in Idris. The Mortal Cup is used to turn mundanes into Shadowhunters, but most die if they drink from it. You needn't worry about that," he added, seeing my startled expression. "You are already Nephilim. And the last one is the Mortal Sword. It is used during trials to compel a Shadowhunter to tell the truth. You may have to take your vows while holding it," he mused. "I shall have to ask Charlotte about that."

"When you said that all Shadowhunters are descended from Raziel, does that mean all Shadowhunters are related?" I asked.

"To a certain degree, yes," Jem answered. "Most Shadowhunters are distantly related if you trace their ancestors back far enough. So, technically, you can marry your third or fourth cousin and never find out. The line would have died out ages ago if they did not occasionally marry mundanes. I don't understand why the Clave disapproves of it."

"I don't either," I said softly, thinking of my parents. Jem seemed to sense the direction my thoughts were taking, and put a hand lightly on my arm, steering me down a different hallway from the one I'd thought we were taking.

"Where are we going?" I asked, confused.

"You were about to go to the Sanctuary Room," he replied. "It is where those who cannot enter hallowed ground, such as Downworlders, come to the Institute when they wish to speak to the occupants or they are seeking shelter."

"Does that happen often?"

"Occasionally," Jem answered. "As you might imagine, many of the truces don't end very well."

He kept up a light conversation as he showed me through the Institute. After several minutes, I stopped trying to memorize where we were going and blindly followed him through the numerous rooms and doors, introducing me to Thomas again and to the jolly, friendly cook Agatha. It was a wonderful, blissful relief from the constant worrying that had been my companion since I'd gotten myself stuck into this entire mess, and I found myself just listening to him, taking in his words. His voice was gentle and soothing, and I realized that he calmed me. Jem had a steady, unhurried air about him, as if he knew the ways of the world and could predict exactly what people were about to do. When he showed me Charlotte and Henry's chambers, I remembered Sophie's hesitance when we'd been speaking in my bedroom and asked him, "Why did Charlotte ask me if my grandmother ran the Los Angeles Institute by herself?"

"Consul Wayland doesn't like Charlotte very much," Jem said, and his eyes narrowed, betraying a sign of annoyance for the first time that evening. "They don't think she can do a good job of running the Institute because she's a woman and very young."

"Well, how old is she?"

"I believe she just turned twenty-three," he replied.

I was shocked. "She seems at least thirty to me! How old was she when she married Henry?"

"Seventeen," Jem replied, laughing a little at my expression. "Mundanes often spend years courting before they marry. Shadowhunters do not have that luxury. The average time from meeting to wedding is around ten months," Jem explained. "They often marry quite young, as well. Late teens, early twenties…"

"Oh," I said. "My parents were eighteen when I was born, but I just thought they were a special case. I didn't know marrying that young in the Shadowhunter world was so common." I paused, unsure how to phrase the question that had just popped up in my mind. "Are _you_ married?"

Jem laughed aloud; it brought some color to his pale cheeks. "By the Angel, no! I may be seventeen, but I have not been introduced to many potential partners. Besides, it would not be advantageous to do so. I—" he suddenly cut himself off, and again I had the feeling he had said too much.

"Why not?" I pressed, but he didn't answer, quickly pointing out one of the paintings we had just passed. I let the subject drop, but I was still curious. Did it have something to do with his cough?

As time wore on, my feet began to ache even more. I was still sore from running the previous day, and it was made even more painful by my uncomfortable outfit. I stuck it out for as long as I could, not wanting to interrupt Jem, but after I twisted my ankle going up a flight of stairs I finally asked in desperation, "Is it all right if I sit down for a while?"

"Of course," he said graciously, not sounding deterred in the least. "The library is just up here." He ushered me through a set of double doors and into a beautiful old chamber filled with rows upon rows of bookshelves. Although I didn't really enjoy reading, I had to admit that the library was absolutely glorious. Jem led me to two armchairs in front of a fireplace and I gratefully sank down into one.

He sat down across from me, his cane resting on his lap, and looked expectantly at me, the light from the fire shimmering in his silver eyes. "Thank you," I told him fervently. "I'm not used to these clothes. Fashion is much more comfortable in 1978. Girls can actually wear pant—uh, trousers."

Jem grinned. "You'll have to tell that one to Jessie. I'm sure she won't believe you."

"I don't think she would believe a lot of things," I said, and then, without any intention to do so beforehand, I launched into an explanation of the time into which I had grown up. I told Jem all I knew about the mundane world—about airplanes, about the culture and how women were viewed, if not complete equals, definitely more equal than they were here. I told him about movies and my trips to Los Angeles, and the celebrities I'd seen, although of course he wouldn't know any of them. I knew I was babbling, and that no one in their right mind would actually want to _listen _to what I was saying, but Jem looked captivated, as if he was drinking in my every word. I told him of the skyscrapers of New York and the cars that zipped by at incredible speeds, and of my trips to the Golden Gate Bridge where I would sit on the railings, heedless of the drop below, and stare out at the Pacific Ocean. I knew that many of my sentences were jumbled, but it was therapeutic to talk about—it lessened the ache in my heart, and made me feel that much less homesick. As long as I had these memories, I knew that I wouldn't feel as lost, that I would know that I belonged _somewhere_. As I spoke, I fiddled with the strap on my purse, expecting Jem to ask about it, but he stayed silent. His eyes were shining when I finally fell silent, my throat aching, and I had the strange feeling he had actually _enjoyed _listening to me.

"That," he said, "was _fascinating._"

"You really think so?" I asked, astonished. "I was just about to apologize for that…you must have been bored out of your mind."

"_Bored?"_ Jem repeated. "No—I was going to say that I don't think I've ever heard someone tell such an enjoyable story. The world will change so much…we really don't give mundanes enough credit."

"Yes," I said. "I just wish I knew more about your world so I could tell you what's going on…"

"It's your world too, now," Jem reminded me gently. I opened my mouth, ready to argue, but I could only stare at him, stricken. My mother's face flashed through my mind, and I felt a wave of sorrow. I knew that she would try to persuade me _not _to become a Shadowhunter, but if she knew my situation…well, I had no other choice. I had nowhere else to go. Charlotte herself had said that the Clave wouldn't allow me to live at the Institute unless I fully became one of them.

Jem suddenly turned around in his seat, facing the wall of bookshelves. "You can come out now, Will," he called, and to my displeasure a tall, dark-haired figure appeared from one of the aisles, his arms crossed and looking annoyed. Had he listened to our entire conversation? There was nothing I had told Jem that I cared about Will knowing or not—I'd just met both of them—but still, the idea that he'd been silently eavesdropping was rather irritating.

"You know, for someone who knows so much about the mundane world, I should think you would know more about the Shadow World, future girl," he told me. "You seem to just know the basics. Your mother never told you _anything? _No hints, nothing about the relationship between Nephilim and Downworlders?" When I shook my head, he glared at me, seeming even more dissatisfied. I was sick of his glares and sneers; I had to speak up.

"Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone, just remember that all the people in the world haven't had all the advantages that you've had," I said bravely. When Will gave me a strange look, I replied, "Oh, I suppose that reference is about fifty years too early for you. It's from a book called _The Great Gatsby_."

"And I don't suppose you've read it either?" he asked, scowling at me.

I hadn't, but I wasn't about to let _him _know that. Jem, sensing the tension in the air, stood up and held out his hand. I took it and he pulled me to my feet. "I'm just taking Abby on a tour of the Institute," he said. At his words I seemed to see Will's eyes soften as he turned to Jem.

"I don't envy you," he said. "I haven't walked through the entire thing since I first arrived here." Something in his tone made it clear he was surprised that Jem could do the same.

"So were you just eavesdropping?" Jem asked, amused.

"Of course not," Will said, looking affronted. "I was just getting a copy of the _Codex _for the future girl." He reached onto the table and handed me a thick leather tome bound in dark velvet. "She'll need to study it before her Vows tomorrow. She'll never make a good Shadowhunter if she doesn't even know what the Mortal Instruments are."

Then he _had _heard our entire conversation. I supposed Jem had known he was there the entire time.

"Maybe you will have to walk through it again," Jem replied. "You never know who might arrive at the Institute and request a guide. Would you care to join us?"

"I would love to," Will said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "But I'm afraid that I must be leaving soon. It's getting close to midnight, and I have brothels to frequent and clubs to haunt." He smirked at my expression. "What it is, future girl?" he asked. "Scared of me already?"

_My name is Abby, not future girl, _I thought, but of course I was too timid to say the words aloud. Instead I looked down, away from his gaze. Jem said something in a low voice to him that I couldn't hear and Will nodded before leaving the room.

Once he was gone, Jem turned back to me and I asked, nervously, "Does Will, uh, often frequent the library?"

"I have seen him skulking about many times," Jem replied as we left the library and started down yet another hallway. "But the library is large enough that the chances of running into him are quite small."

I hoped he would stay there; it was unlikely that I would be perusing the library again. I wasn't much of a reader—which was probably why I was horrible with words and couldn't think up an insult to save my life.

Jem continued on down the hallway while I followed him at a slower pace. We'd been walking for nearly an hour and I could sense he was beginning to tire; he was leaning more heavily on his cane and moving more slowly. I felt like telling him that he didn't need to show me everything, but he continued on doggedly, determined to show me as much as possible. Instead of going into each of the rooms, though, he merely opened the doors and told me what they were.

"And here is the music room," he was saying, opening one of the doors at the end of the hallway. There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked even paler than before.

"Jem, you don't need to—music room?" I asked in sudden delight. I peered around him into a room with a number of musical instruments covered in white sheets, save for a grand piano standing in the corner, covered with dust. Unable to hide my glee, I made straight for the piano, sliding onto the bench and flipping open the music book propped on the stand.

"You play the piano?" Jem asked, right behind me, and I jumped. I'd been so focused that I hadn't heard him come up behind me.

"Yes," I said once my heart had slowed down. "We had a piano at home, and every time I was worried or angry I would turn those feelings into music." I paused before admitting sheepishly, "I would rather read music than books."

"Music has a language all its own," Jem agreed, and reached out a hand to press several of the keys, creating a pleasant, smooth rhythm. The piano was slightly out of tune, but I didn't mind. "I've played the violin since I was a child," he explained. "My father taught me."

"Is it something you would ever consider doing professionally?" I asked curiously. "If you weren't a Shadowhunter, that is."

Jem laughed, shaking his head. "I would never attempt it. I am not nearly as good enough as my father was, nor will I ever be."

"Practice makes perfect," I told him. "You just need time." But, again, something crossed his features before he quickly covered it up and was smiling serenely at me again. To alleviate my lack of a response and not wanting to ask questions, I turned back to the piano and began to play an idle tune, one I knew by heart. It had been one of the very first compositions I'd learned.

"_Für Elise_," Jem said when I finished. "Beethoven." I looked over at him, a grin spreading across my features.

"That was an easy one," I couldn't help but tease before playing a lesser-known piece by Chopin. Of course, Jem knew that one as well, and I continued on, his smile growing wider, until I cheated and played several compositions from the twentieth century. He seemed to know what I was doing, and my grin turned sly. "Sorry, that wasn't fair," I told him. I felt strange sitting so close to him; our legs were just touching even through the bulky material of my dress. I realized, for the first time, I wasn't thinking about my situation.

"Music must have changed so much," he said, his smile turning wistful. "You will have to teach me sometime."

"Of course I will," I promised him, and he slid off the piano bench.

"I often play the violin at night," he said. "It relaxes me." With something like shyness in his features, he added, "You're welcome to listen, if you'd like."

Delighted, I nodded, and followed him back to our bedrooms—his room was right across the hall from mine—and I stopped in the doorway of his room. It looked much the same as mine, with minimal furniture and decoration, aside from a white box on his bedside table next to a glass of water. I didn't press the topic, though, and sat down gingerly on his bed.

Jem, who had been gathering his violin from the case next to his bed, looked surprised when he saw me sitting down. Embarrassed, I immediately jumped up. "Is this not proper etiquette?" I asked him. "Will we cause a scandal?"

"No, of course not," he reassured me. "It's just…" he turned even redder and looked away.

"It's just what?"

"I've never had a girl in here before of her own accord," he admitted, speaking so fast it took me a moment to process the words.

Trying for levity, I asked, "Not even Jessamine? I would think she'd be jumping at the chance."

Jem shot me a lightly exasperated look—it reminded me of the look I'd seen him give Will—and raised the bow to the violin before beginning to play.

If I'd thought I was good at the piano, it was nothing compared to Jem's playing. I'd heard violins before, but nothing like _this_—notes so beautiful and poignant that reminded me of home, melancholy yet uplifting at the same time. I thought of my mother's face, and Brother Enoch saying solemnly, _This is very strange, the likes of which have never been seen before. _I thought of the demon chasing me, and the notion that if I _was_ sent back home, I would be stuck in the same place at the motel and killed anyway. The music rooted me to the spot, sending its notes through to the very core of my being. When Jem finally stopped, lowering the bow and turning around to look at me expectantly, his face red with concentration, I felt as if something had been yanked from me, and it was only then I realized my face was wet.

"That was…" I trailed off, my voice sounding hoarse and croaky after the ethereal music. "That was the most beautiful thing I've ever heard."

Jem quickly looked away from me. For a moment I thought he was embarrassed, and then I realized he had noticed me crying and didn't want me to know that he'd seen my tears. I took a deep breath, discreetly wiping them away, and said in a stronger voice, "It made me think of home. I'm sorry, you must think I'm overly senti—sentimental—"

He shook his head and put the violin back in its box, hovering near the window through which I could feel a cool breeze. "I think of home when I play that song too," he admitted, seeming to hesitate before saying, "I was born in Shanghai."

"You're Chinese, then," I mused, smiling. "That's not so far from San Francisco—well, it's closer than London, anyway."

"I'm half-Chinese," Jem corrected. The wind was blowing in, ruffling his silver hair, which was the same color as the moonlight. If I squinted, he could almost seem like a statue, glowing and otherworldly. Just like his music. "My mother was Chinese and my father was British."

"Was?" I asked, frowning.

"They were killed when I was eleven years old. Greater Demon attack," he explained, and his eyes narrowed slightly. "So I came to the London Institute."

I instantly regretted asking him. "Oh," I said in a small voice. "I'm…I'm sorry. I can't imagine how you must feel."

"Yes, you do," he said. "I think you're the only other person who does. You know what it's like to…to have someone missing."

I glanced up at him, startled. "I know," I said in a small voice. "I think…I think that's part of the reason why I want to become a Shadowhunter. To fight against the demons who killed my father and grandfather. They left my mother and grandmother widows."

"Abby—" he began, taking a step towards me, but was overcome by a fit of coughing.

Startled, I took a step toward him, trying to place a hand on his shoulder, but he was bent double, coughing up something that I was sure was blood. My stomach rolled.

"Jem!" I cried. "I'll go get Charlotte—"

He shook his head, more blood splattering onto the floor. "The silver box—" he gasped. "On the table—mix it with water—"

I leapt to my feet and rushed over to the box, lifting it open. There was a light spattering of what looked like white powder lining the inside, with a spoon in the water next to it. My hands shaking, I grabbed the spoon and scooped up a handful of the powder, mixing it into the water until it had turned a murky white before running back over to Jem, who was gasping loudly. He drank the glass in one and I knelt down beside him, debating whether to call Charlotte even though he had said not to. "Jem?" I asked hesitantly as he set the glass down on the floor, slumping against the side of the bed. His eyes were half-closed, his muscles limp.

Behind me, the door burst open and I leapt to my feet, crashing against the wall in my surprise. Will had strode into the room and was heading straight for Jem, with barely a look at me. He gently grabbed the other boy by the shoulders and lifted him onto the bed, setting him down gently. Jem began to thrash wildly about, calling out in a strange language I recognized vaguely as being Chinese. Will held him until he had calmed, and when he was lying still on the bed again he slowly straightened and turned over to me. "What happened?" he asked, and there was only urgency in his voice, no trace of malice. His blue eyes were wide, and for once there wasn't a smirk on his face.

"We were talking and then he suddenly started coughing blood...he told me to mix whatever that stuff is in the box into his water and give it to him," I babbled.

"And he drank it," Will said. Some of the worry left his voice. "Thank you, Abby," he said; it was the first honest thing I had heard him say and the first time he had said my real name.

"Is he going to be right?" I asked, and Will's expression clouded over again.

"Yes," he replied, but I had the feeling he wasn't telling the truth. We stared at each other for another second, and then something seemed to change inside him, and he was back to being his original self. "You cannot tell anyone of this, do you hear?" he demanded, the hard edge back in his tone.

"No, of course not," I stammered. "But Charlotte—"

"She does not need to hear this," Will spat. "Do you swear?"

I stared, wide-eyed, at him, nodding fervently. "I promise."

"Good." He strode to the room and stood at the door; I realized it was my invitation to leave. "You should go to sleep," he told me, although I was sure my well-being was the last thing he cared about.

Taking one last glance back at Jem, I mutely left the room, not looking at Will on my way out. I wanted to ask him what had happened to him, but something told me he wouldn't answer.

When I was safely back inside my bedroom, I shut the door behind me and flopped onto my bed. The fire was burning low in the grate, but I had no idea how to tend to it or how to fetch Sophie. My head was spinning—from the events of that evening, from Jem's sudden sickness, to Will's odd behavior, to the trials I had to face the next day…my stomach flopped nervously, and I had to clap my hand over my mouth or else I would be sick. The adrenaline rush that had powered me through the last twenty-four hours was beginning to wear off; I had to distract myself or I knew I would break. So I reached into the folds of my dress and pulled out the _Codex; _if that wasn't distraction enough, what was?

I spent the next hours closely studying the book, learning about different the types of demons and runes and the history of Shadowhunters…Andrew Lightwood had told me the basics, but there was still so much I didn't know. It was a strange feeling to think that my parents had both known all of this, had studied this very book…I finally managed to fall asleep in the early hours of the morning, dreaming of formless demons and my mother's voice and violin music that still haunted me, even after it had faded into silence.

* * *

Weak sunlight woke me up the next morning; I groaned and threw my hand over my eyes. Sophie had pulled open the blinds and was striding around the room holding a red dress over her arms.

"Good morning, miss," she greeted me. I was still in my silver dress from the previous night, sprawled out across the bed without even having crawled under the covers. The _Codex _still lay by my head, opened to the page describing the different types of love. "Mrs Branwell wishes for you to have a good breakfast before your meeting with the Clave today. They agreed to come here instead of you visiting the Council Chamber."

This hardly brightened my mood—in fact, I was sure that _nothing _at all could brighten my mood, save from being sent home, due to the lack of sleep I'd gotten. But I mechanically sat up and allowed Sophie to untie the countless knots around my current dress and help me into the red dress, which thankfully fit me much better. Looking at myself in the mirror, I finally understood _why _there was need of maids in the Victorian era—the women couldn't get their dresses off by themselves. I was sure a dress such as I'd seen Jessamine wearing the previous night would need at least two or three maids to help her.

"Red," I mused as Sophie plaited my hair. "That's the ceremonial color, right?"

"Yes," she agreed, smiling at me in the mirror. Even with the scar, she was absolutely stunning when she smiled. "Every Nephilim must wear red when they take their Vows. The Clave will be pleased to see you are studying the _Codex_."

This thought didn't make me feel better, either—it was better for them to underestimate me and get it over with. After all, they were the same group who had banned my mother from Ascending and had forbidden my parents' marriage. I couldn't be blamed if I held a little bit of a bias when I met them for the first time, could I?

"There you are, miss," Sophie said after a peaceful silence, stepping back and surveying my reflection in the mirror. "The Clave should be satisfied with that."

Even Sophie, I realized with sadness, couldn't make me look prettier, but at least my dress looked slightly more extravagant. I stood up and was about to follow her out of the room when I caught sight of Jem's closed door across the hall and I asked in a low voice, "Sophie…what exactly is wrong with Jem?"

I didn't miss the tiny jerk she gave when I mentioned his name. "Is he ill?" she asked.

I hesitated, remembering Will warning me against telling Charlotte, but Sophie wasn't Charlotte, and besides, I had a feeling that she was trustworthy…hesitantly, I told her about Jem's strange episode the previous night, and the one I'd seen him have when I first arrived in London. Sophie took her hand away from her mouth when I was finished. "Master Jem is unwell," she finally said.

"What do you mean?" I asked, but she refused to give me a straight answer. I followed her downstairs to the dining hall, feeling another step removed from everyone else. Everyone seemed to know what was wrong with him but me, and he was just being polite to me because he had to. If he had the choice, he would probably be like Will, unflinching and uncaring. I bit down hard on my lower lip to hide the tears; I didn't want the Clave to see me cry.

* * *

Charlotte, Henry, Will and Jessamine were already seated at the table eating breakfast when I arrived; Jem was the only one absent. I could feel Will's harsh gaze on me as I took a seat, this time next to Jessamine so I wouldn't have to face them all. She shifted away from me, but I pretended I didn't notice.

"How did you sleep, Abby?" Charlotte asked me. "I hope the Institute is comfortable enough for you."

"It is, thank you," I replied, trying my best to smile. It was true: the beds _were _comfortable, and I supposed one could get used to the dank chambers after a while, but it was the people inside I wasn't so sure about.

"Where's Jem?" Jessamine asked even before I'd finished speaking. "The Clave will be here in less than an hour and he's late."

"Jem will not be joining us today," Charlotte replied. "He is not feeling very well." My eyes snapped up, but Will's face was blank. Jessamine looked indifferent, sitting back in her chair at this, and I couldn't help but feel relieved that nobody suspected me. I stabbed unhappily at my eggs and ham, realizing that I'd been counting on Jem being there during the ceremony. So far, he was the only person who had been able to calm me down, with his steady manner and kind gaze. I felt…_better _when I was around him. Less alone.

After half an hour had passed, during which nobody spoke and I had managed to do nothing other than rearrange the food on my plate, there was a low gonglike sound that reverberated throughout the room. I started, and Charlotte jumped up at once.

"That's the Enclave. Oh dear, they're early—Will, can you bring Abby to the library?" Charlotte seemed flustered, something I'd thought very out-of-character for her. But I didn't have time to dwell on it as Will stood up and said amusingly, "Follow me, future girl."

Technically, I should have been able to find my way to the library by myself, since Jem had shown me around the previous night, but with my current terror there was no way I would be able to remember anything. Gathering up my skirts, I stood up and followed Will out of the dining-hall. He looked quite entertained by my fear, as if it was enjoyable for him.

I wanted to ask him about Jem, but I knew I would only get a lie like Sophie had—or, with Will, something even worse. He walked so fast and so purposefully that I had to jog to keep up with him, my sore legs hating him more with every step.

But the stairs he led me up and the hallways he led me through were unfamiliar—at least, I hadn't remembered Jem showing them to me. "This isn't the way to the library," I couldn't help saying, rather indignantly.

Will turned back to look at me for the first time, and he finally grinned. "So you _were _paying attention last night," he said. "I'm taking you through a shortcut—unless, of course, you'd like to walk through the Enclave on their way through the main entryway."

"No, I don't," I said quickly.

"Of course," Will replied lightly, "I _do _demand recompense at some point."

My eyebrows raised. "What kind of recompense?"

His own eyes twinkled darkly, and I was just steeling myself for the worst when a pair of double doors burst open in front of us and a boy a year or two older than me strode out. He was handsome in a cruel way, with tousled brown hair and narrowed green eyes. I heard Will make a displeased sound next to me.

"Herondale," the boy snapped; he was glaring at Will with an expression of pure hatred. "What are you doing here?"

"I could say the same thing of yourself," Will said lightly, a grin stretching across his face. "Taking some books from the library, no doubt. You might want to recommend a few on improper relations with demons to your father—"

The boy's face turned bright red and he seemed about to retort, but his eyes landed on me for the first time and he gave a tiny step back. "I suppose you're the new girl from _America,_" he drawled, as if it was the most horrible place in the world. "I can't believe that Charlotte called the Enclave all the way here just for an Ascension ceremony. She thinks she's getting special treatment just because she runs the Institute—"

"And I suppose _you've _never gotten special treatment in your life, Gabriel?" Will interrupted.

Gabriel didn't seem to have a comeback to that, so he turned to me instead. "Not much to look at, is she?" he asked cruelly. My eyes widened in fright.

"Maybe not," Will agreed, "But, if given the choice, I would rather look at her than you—"

"Boys!" a voice called from the other end of the hallway. Thankfully, Will and Gabriel ceased their arguing and turned to see a tall, distinguished man walking down the hallway. He had a pale, pointed face and green eyes just like Gabriel, although his were dull and lifeless. "Gabriel, why aren't you with the others? And William, what are you doing here? You're too young—"

"For Enclave meetings," Will clarified. "I merely wanted to wish Abby good luck on her ceremony today." He sounded perfectly polite, and I tried not to make my expression one of surprise. I'd never met anyone who was able to change personas so quickly.

But the man didn't seem as if he'd heard a word Will said. "Where is the Carstairs boy?" he continued. "Surely he hasn't expired yet—"

I couldn't help my sharp intake of breath. A furious expression crossed Will's face; he started toward the man, and for a wild second I thought he was going to punch him. But the low murmur of a group of people was beginning to float towards us, and Will settled for simply whirling around and stalking away, fire in his blue eyes. I was left standing awkwardly with Gabriel and the older man, who were both staring at me.

"So," the man said, not seeming to care that Will had left. "Abigail Cartwright. You certainly do look like one of them," he said grudgingly, echoing what Jem had said before. "My name is Benedict Lightwood."

My eyes widened. _Lightwood? _So these were the Lightwoods. I couldn't believe that Andrew Lightwood was descended from them…perhaps there was another branch of the family I didn't know about. And why did Will hate Gabriel so much? Of course, he didn't seem to be the most pleasant person, but I got the feeling that there was something deeper to their animosity.

Benedict and Gabriel were already beginning to move into the library, and I followed them past rows and rows of bookcases, past the armchairs in front of the (now-empty) fireplace where Jem and I had sat the night before, and directly to a row of long oak tables I hadn't noticed before. It appeared that the others had already arrived: I saw Charlotte sitting, again, at the head of one of the tables, and a group of mostly older males surrounding her, although I did see a white-haired woman amongst the crowd of men.

"Ah, there she is," I heard someone mutter, and soon everyone's heads were craned towards me. Again, I felt horribly awkward and uncomfortable as I scuttled over to one of the tables.

"Darling!" a female voice called, and a blonde woman stood up and threw her arms around me, followed by a veritable crowd of other blond-haired, brown-eyed Shadowhunters. I stared up at the Cartwrights, noticing with dismay that they all _did_ seem to be rather strange. One of them was wearing a pair of earrings that looked as if they were made out of human teeth and they all wore strange clothes in terrible patterns—one even had a bright green dress—that reminded me of Henry's unusual clothing choices. I wasn't at all comforted to see them, even though, I knew, technically, they _were _my family. I quietly answered all of their questions such as "Who were your parents? Where did you live in America? Did they ever tell you about us?" as best as I could, hoping no one would see through my lies.

Someone cleared their throat after a while, and I felt relieved as the gaggle of people around me went back to their seats. A square-jawed, fair-haired man stood up and took their place, staring coldly at me. "Consul Wayland, this is Abigail Cartwright, as I'm sure you've noticed," Charlotte said in a brave voice. I gave the Consul a small smile; he didn't smile back.

"Are you prepared to take your Vows?" he asked. "It is a ceremony usually done when Nephilim are children, but it has been altered to fit you and is a mixture of the mundane Ascension ritual as well, since Charlotte has told me that you were living a mundane life before you came to London."

I gave a tiny nod, and he pointed at an empty spot in the middle of the floor. I noticed, with a jolt, Brother Enoch was standing there, a long, gleaming sword in his hands. The Mortal Sword.

Slowly, I walked over to the spot the Consul had indicated, and Brother Enoch came over to stand in front of me. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something warp and glimmer near the bookshelves, but as soon as I blinked it disappeared.

"Abby," said Charlotte, and I was jerked back to attention. "You'll need to kneel down."

So, conscious of all eyes on me, I did, sinking down to my knees in front of Brother Enoch. He handed me the sword, and I grabbed the hilt, holding it out in front of me, its point digging into the floor. I felt a strange pull as soon as I touched it, but my heart was pounding too crazily for me to think about why that was.

Above me, Brother Enoch had silently glided away to be replaced with Consul Wayland, who was holding a scroll out in front of him and staring at me with what I imagined was a disapproving look. "You are sixteen, correct?" he asked.

"I am, sir." The words left my mouth before I even had a chance to think about them: the pull of the Mortal Sword was too strong. With a start, I realized that if one of them were to ask me about where I _really _came from, I wouldn't be able to lie.

But, luckily, he skipped straight to the Vows. "Do you swear to forsake the mundane world and follow the path of the Shadowhunter? Do you swear to serve the Clave, to follow the Law as set forth by the Covenant, and to obey the word of the Council? Will you defend that which is human and mortal, knowing that for your service there will be no recompense and no thanks but honor?"

My throat had gone very dry at the words _forsake the mundane world, _but it was too late now. "I swear," I whispered.

"Can you be a shield for the weak, a light in the dark, a truth among falsehoods, a tower in the flood, an eye to see when all others are blind?" Consul Wayland continued.

"I can," I said, but it was hardly louder than my first affirmation.

"And when you are dead, will you give up your body to the Nephilim to be burned, that your ashes may be used to build the City of Bones?"

I took a deep breath. "I will." _I'm sorry, Mom._

This was the part of the ritual where the mundane would drink from the Mortal Cup, said the _Codex, _but since I was Nephilim I had no need for that. Instead my first Mark would be placed on me.

Consul Wayland took the Mortal Sword from me, and I rose to my feet as Brother Enoch replaced him. I tried not to look into the Silent Brother's eyes as he stood in front of me, blocking the others from view, even as I heard his voice inside my head.

_Abigail Lucie Cartwright, _he said, similar to the first time I had heard him. _Are you aware of the honor being done you, and will you do all in your power to be worthy of it?_

"Yes," I said, trying hard to keep my voice steady.

_And do you accept these Marks of the Angel, which will be upon your body forever, a reminder of all that you owe to the Angel, and of your sacred duty to the world?_

"I do," I told him, and Brother Enoch held up a small, pen-like object. A stele, I recognized. _Then the first of your Marks will be placed upon you._

The _Codex _had said that it would be painful. I knew the Voyance rune, the power to see through glamours, would be the first. My hand was shaking as I held it out to Brother Enoch. He took mine and placed the tip of the stele on the back of my hand. I felt a sharp pain, like a needle was being stuck into my skin, when it made contact, but I forced myself not to betray any outward signs of discomfort as he drew the shape of a dark eye on the back of it. Black lines blossomed from the center, and I bit my lip so hard that I was drawing blood.

But finally, the pain began to recede and Brother Enoch stepped back, putting the stele back in his long robes. _You are now a Shadowhunter, _he said, and the Cartwrights all began to applaud, although everyone else was looking rather bored.

_I don't feel any different, _I thought, and wondered if I should voice my concerns out loud, when I suddenly saw Will, standing by the bookcases where I had seen the air warp and shimmer shortly before my Vows. This time, when I looked directly at him, his outline didn't waver. Our eyes met, and he shot me a sarcastic smirk. _Oh, _I realized with a jolt. I was able to see through glamours now.

Brother Enoch blocked my view of him again, and handed me two objects. One I recognized as a stele, and the other was a shining, silver dagger that blazed with light. _Your stele and Seraph blade, _he told me, and I took them. I was officially a Shadowhunter now.

And I had no idea what I was supposed to feel.


	5. Five

**This chapter focuses more on character development, but the next chapter is going to be more plot-driven (and yes, I can assure you there _is _a plot!) :D The events of _Clockwork Angel _will begin in Chapter 8, so at the moment Tessa would be trapped in the Dark Sisters' house.**

* * *

**T**here was a celebration that evening, with cakes, pastries and a dozen kinds of dessert laid on the table. Agatha was certainly going to lots of trouble to prepare a party for a girl who had just arrived at the Institute barely over a day before—I presumed Charlotte must have had something to do with it. But it was obvious that no one cared enough to even partake in the festivities. Jem was still ill; Will, after I'd briefly seen him in the library, seemed to have disappeared entirely; Jessamine was conspicuously absent as well—although I hadn't particularly wanted her there in the first place—Charlotte said Henry was still working in his lab and wouldn't be up for hours; and although I had asked Sophie if she would be coming, she had just shook her head and said that she wanted to check on Jem, which was, I thought, her way of politely avoiding me.

So that left Charlotte, myself, and Thomas sitting at the grand table tucking into a feast fit for at least ten. Charlotte tried to make polite conversation, and Thomas was very friendly, but I could barely swallow past the lump in my throat. The past forty-eight hours had been so full of action and adrenaline that I had barely had time to let everything sink in. Now my mind was just beginning to process the fact that I was stuck a century in the past on a different continent, with the very people my mother had spent her entire life running away from. The open eye on the back of my hand, my first Mark, seemed to taunt me, as if it symbolized my mother glaring at me for what I had done. But what had I been _supposed _to do?

As soon as the ceremony had ended, I'd bolted out of the library without speaking to anyone and shut myself in my room, reading the _Codex _until my eyes had hurt and my brain had tired. I didn't want to think about my problem anymore; I couldn't stand Charlotte's sympathetic gazes and Will's glares. I wanted none of it.

In my bedroom, I had held the tip of the stele over my bare arm, wondering if I should start practicing runes. But the book had also advised that it was dangerous if the Shadowhunter wasn't trained well enough and that runes had the possibility to backfire if they weren't drawn properly. So I had decided not to, although I still burned with curiosity.

Halfway through the meal, the dining-hall doors opened and Will and Jem walked in. Jem looked much better than he had the previous night; there was a flush of color to his cheeks, although it might just have been because he was wearing a bright red waistcoat. At any rate, I couldn't help but feel relieved.

"I hope we're not too late," Jem apologized, taking the chair next to me while Will sat on his other side. "I searched the Institute to find Will before coming down here."

"He almost didn't find me, either," Will added, taking a piece of cake and stuffing it whole into his mouth. "I was reading quite an interesting book on how to turn into a flock of sheep."

"A sheep?" I asked, despite myself.

"Yes, they're little furry animals with lots of wool—" Will began.

"I think she knows what a sheep is, Will," Jem said, offering the bowl of pastries to him.

"I was not aware of the cultural differences in America, James, so I suppose you could even say I was being polite—"

"How are you feeling, Jemmy?" Charlotte asked, interrupting Will mid-sentence. I would have smiled at the look on his face if I was in a better mood.

"Quite well," he said mildly. "Abby, I apologize for missing your ceremony today, but Will tells me it went as planned."

"It did," I said. "I suppose I just expected to be more—"

"—Exciting?" Will offered.

I nodded slowly. "Why did the entire Enclave need to show up, anyway?"

"They wanted to see how Charlotte is keeping up with running the Institute," Will explained. "In case you haven't noticed, they don't trust her."

"Will!" Jem reprimanded, but Charlotte sat firmly in her seat.

"Why not?" I asked, twisting around to look at Charlotte. "You seem to be doing quite well, considering…uh…everything you have to go through."

"It's because I'm a woman," Charlotte said. There was a repressed anger in her voice. "They only let me run the Institute because of Henry, although everyone knows that he is just a figurehead."

I could think of nothing to say, except for, "They'll come around soon enough," thinking of my grandmother. So that was why she had been so relieved to hear that my grandmother was the head of the LA Institute.

Charlotte seemed to relax at this, and I felt gratified at being able to make her feel better. _Don't give up, _I wanted to tell her, but instead I asked, "Where is Henry, anyway?"

"Probably in his lab trying to help you," Thomas spoke up, smiling at me crookedly. "He's barely left it all day."

I felt a rush of gratitude swell up inside me, and I almost smiled, but at that moment Agatha came into the room with a blueberry pie, and an achingly familiar smell reached my nostrils. Blueberry pie had been my mother's favorite recipe, and the smell reminded me of warm summer afternoons sitting in our sunny kitchen, waiting for the pie to come out of the oven…the nostalgia hit me like a wave. I looked up, and everyone could read the shock and sadness written plainly across my expression. To my horror, I felt tears sting at my eyes.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, pushing my chair back and standing up. "I have to go—the meal was wonderful." My voice cracked on the last word, and before I could really begin to cry I fled out of the room. As the doors slammed behind me I dimly heard Will say, "Don't worry. Agatha's cooking can bring even the strongest to tears of joy. I had the same reaction when I first came here."

* * *

I ran blindly through the Institute halls, not caring where I was going. I didn't want to go up to my room, I didn't want to go to the library…I considered just slumping down onto the cold stone floor and crying, but then I remembered the music room. I would be safe there. I would be able to _think _there.

By a sheer stroke of luck, I made it there without getting lost once. Not bothering to shut the door behind me—Jem had said it was rarely used anyway—I went straight for the piano and flipped open the song book, barely able to see for the tears blurring my eyes. I wasn't the most adept at reading music, especially when I was upset like I was now, but I doggedly pushed forth, thinking about nothing except the music and the notes I was reading. I wasn't paying attention to the song, just letting the music wash over me and taking me to a different place. I wasn't in the London Institute anymore; I was at home in San Francisco practicing for my recital the next day, or practicing for my interview with Juilliard…

I wasn't sure how long I played, but my fingers were sore and my back was getting stiff when I finally stopped, slumping down onto the bench and feeling exhausted, as if I had just run a marathon.

"I think that piece sounds much better on the piano than it does on the violin."

I whirled around, jumping up in startled surprise, as my eyes landed on Jem standing in the doorway. "Jem!" I exclaimed. "How long have you been here?"

He looked sheepish. "I heard most of what you played."

I couldn't muster up the courage to be embarrassed as if it had been Will who had overheard me. He understood music; knew what it was like to completely lose yourself. Perhaps he even knew it better than I did. "So you followed me up here," I said gloomily, sitting back down on the bench. He walked into the room—I noticed he didn't have his cane—and sat down beside me, as we had done the previous night.

"Not exactly," he admitted. "I remembered what you said about playing music, so I guessed that you had come up here. I'm the same way."

"Oh, I'm so pathetic," I groaned, dropping my face into my hands as if it could cover my shame. "I left because Agatha's blueberry pie smelled like the ones my mother used to make."

"I don't think that's pathetic," Jem said. "When I first came here, things like that used to set me off at a moment's notice. The way someone looked at me, the way someone said something…I think most of it was how _different _London was from Shanghai. I'm sure you can relate." He grinned at me, and I noticed something green gleam against the base of his throat.

"It's like I'm in a parallel universe," I agreed. "That's even what I thought when I first arrived here."

"Everything changed so quickly, didn't it?" Jem asked. "It's overwhelming at first."

I turned toward him, glad to know that someone could understand me. I nodded, and we sat in silence for another long while, the only light the shadows at our feet. "I wish I'd met you before," I blurted out, and then cringed at the stupidity of my statement. "I mean, if it had been possible. You…you make me feel better. Like things aren't so hopeless."

"That's because they aren't," Jem said quietly. "I find that things usually have a way of working themselves out in the end."

I turned to look at him, smiling lightly. "I hope so."

"I am to begin training you tomorrow morning," he said after another companionable silence. "If that's all right with you."

"What does this training consist of?" I asked warily.

"Just the basics—stealth and agility at first, and then physical combat. You should be ready to go out on your own in a month or so."

"A month," I repeated doubtfully. It seemed awfully close.

Jem grinned at me, and I could see the flash of his white teeth in the moonlight. "Don't worry—it's quite simple once you get the hang of it. You have your Marks now, after all." He reached out and hesitantly took my wrist, turning it over so that my Voyance rune was facing him. When I didn't pull away, he said, "I do regret not attending the ceremony earlier today."

"It's fine," I assured him. "Will was there, being his usual, uh, charming self."

"I'm sure he was," Jem said, letting go of my wrist.

"See, that wasn't a good thing."

"Will means no harm," Jem began.

I snorted. "That's like saying demons are just misunderstood. It's as if he _wants _everyone to hate him."

"Perhaps he does," said Jem quietly.

"Well, he's certainly doing a very good job of it."

We lapsed into another silence, but it wasn't awkward at all. I wished Jem would stay, if only because he seemed to be a balm for my aching heart. It was as if he could patch up the wounds inside me and give me hope.

"Why aren't you pressing me about Will?" he asked suddenly.

I blinked, pulled out of my reverie. "It's none of my business," I said. "I just wish he wasn't so rude to me. I don't need to worry about him on top of everything else."

"Then don't," Jem said, and there was an odd look in his eyes. I looked at him curiously, wanting to know what had caused the sudden change, but he turned away from me. "You should be getting to bed soon," he said, standing up abruptly. I did too, feeling disappointed for a reason I couldn't explain. "Charlotte will want you to wake early tomorrow."

"Oh, all right," I said, following him out of the room and downstairs to our bedrooms. I felt as if something had changed during our conversation in the music room, although I couldn't say what. In front of my door, Jem paused and pulled out his stele. "Can I try something?" he asked.

"Sure," I said, holding out my arm. He pressed the tip to it, lighter than Brother Enoch's touch had been, and drew an unfamiliar pattern on my arm. I watched as it glowed brightly and then seemed to sink into the very skin. I suddenly felt invincible, unbeatable, like I was on top of the world. I stared up at him, my mouth opening. All my trepidation and fear vanished.

"It's a courage rune," Jem said, smiling at my wonder. "I find it helps when I'm feeling particularly down."

"Thank you," I said, struck with the sudden urge to hug him. "You know, I expected Marks to hurt. This one did when Brother Enoch placed it on me." I pointed at my Voyance Mark.

"Well, the Silent Brothers are much more powerful than your ordinary Shadowhunter," Jem explained, and I remembered a question I'd wanting to ask for a while.

"Why are they mutilated like that? It's…horrifying."

"They are a bit strange, aren't they? But they've chosen that life," Jem explained, although I couldn't imagine why anyone would _want _to. "It's symbolic, the removing of their eyes and the stitching of their mouths. They don't feel as we do, so I'm sure you didn't offend them by commenting on their appearance."

"What do they do all day? Just look through the archives?"

"Nobody knows," Jem replied, shrugging slightly. "Will swears that they sing, but I'm not so sure."

I laughed. "That would certainly be a surprise."

"I'll make sure to let you know if I ever find out one day."

Smiling, I said, "Good night, Jem," and let myself into my room, feeling a tiny vestige of—dare I even _think _it?—hope.

* * *

But whatever sliver of hope I had been feeling after our conversation in the music room was shattered that night. Instead of falling straight to sleep like I had been lucky enough to do the previous two times I'd fallen asleep in the Institute, I tossed and turned for what felt like hours, staring at the darkness of my room and wishing childishly that I had a night light. I could be anywhere now, in my bedroom or in the motel waiting for my mother to come back.

I must have drifted off to sleep sometime, although I couldn't have specified when. All I knew was that the next moment, I really _was _back in the motel, staring at the spider on the wall and my heart pounding as I tried to wait out the storm.

Across the room, the door creaked open. I shot up in bed, a scream stuck in my throat. My mother stepped into the room, and I relaxed. "Mom, where have you been?" I asked as she hurried over to me, wrapping my arms in her soft embrace. "I had a horrible dream—I thought I would never be able to get back home—"

"It's all right," she kept saying over and over. I leaned into her embrace, but instead of her familiar smell there was something different, a scent of—oddly enough, burnt paper—and something spicier that stung my nose—

And then she pulled away, and I realized that she wasn't my mother after all. Her skin rippled and twisted, her lips pushing back into a snarl and her skin turning green. She was transforming into the demon that had been chasing me, and I began screaming, and screaming, and screaming—

"Abby, _please wake up!_" A quiet but urgent voice jerked me out of my dream, and I shot straight up in bed, a half-sob, half-scream still caught in my throat.

Sweat was pouring off me, soaking my white nightdress and curling my hair. The blankets were kicked onto the floor, and my heart was pounding crazily. For a moment, I was honestly clueless as to whether I was in the motel or the Institute.

And then I realized there was someone else in the room, and I screamed again, rolling right off the bed and landing hard on the stone floor. "Abby," the same voice breathed, and I caught sight of something silver hurrying around the bed and kneeling down next to me. "It was just a nightmare. You're safe."

I was trembling hard and my eyes were huge as I cringed away from the person who had run up to me. I couldn't see his face properly in the darkness, and for a moment I thought he was a ghost, or just part of the shadows himself. Then, as I my eyes adjusted, I realized it was Jem, wearing a white dressing-gown. Paired with his pale skin and white hair, he was clearly visible even through the darkness.

"Jem," I said, fighting hard to control my shivers. "You're right. I'm so sorry…I dreamt I was back in California and my mother…she turned into the demon that had been chasing me." It sounded stupid when I spoke the words out loud, but Jem seemed to understand.

"I was practicing the violin when I heard you screaming," he said, holding out a hand. I stared at it for a moment before taking it and letting him pull me to my feet. "I hope you do not mind that I burst into your room like this, but I feared you were hurt."

"Don't worry about it," I told him, crawling back under the covers and wrapping them tightly around me. "It's fine. If you hear me screaming again don't worry about it." I paused. "I guess that courage rune faded."

"You had a nightmare," he said reassuringly. "Runes cannot guard against the mind."

"Unfortunately," I replied, rather ruefully. "Thank you, Jem. For waking me up."

He smiled and started towards the door, but just before he left he said something in an unfamiliar language: "_Zhu ni zuo ge hao meng_."

"What does that mean?" I asked, curious.

"It means _Have a good sleep_," Jem replied. "Good night, Abby."

And, surprisingly, I did feel much better. I fell asleep to the sound of his haunting violin music, lulled into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

It felt like only minutes later that it was the next morning and Sophie woke me up. Still tired and disoriented from the night before, I silently prepared myself to get laced up in another decadent dress, but I had no sooner come to terms with this fact when I saw that Sophie was carrying an outfit that looked wonderfully similar to the tracksuits that were popular in 1978; it looked like the gear Will and Jem had been wearing on the night I had first met them: a pair of tight-fitting pants and a shirt with a weapons belt on it in a sleek black material. I let out a cry of joy as I shed my nightgown and pulled on the training gear. It had only been two days since I'd worn pants (or, as the British called them, trousers) but the feeling of having my legs free again was nevertheless a great comfort in a strange way.

"I don't think I've ever seen anyone so excited about training clothes before," Sophie said dryly as I jumped around the room, feeling as if shackles had just been lifted off me.

"Can I just wear these from now on?" I asked hopefully, pulling the pins from my hair, twisting it into a high ponytail and rolling up my sleeves, where the outline of the Courage rune Jem had drawn on me was still faintly visible, although it was beginning to lighten.

Sophie laughed. "I don't think Mrs Branwell would mind, although you might get strange looks if members of the Clave come to visit." She placed a breakfast tray on the table, where my stomach growled at the smells wafting off it. "Speaking of Mrs Branwell, she and Mr Branwell are gone for the day on Clave business. She instructed that you have your breakfast here before going up to the attic. I believe Master Jem is waiting for you."

I sprang into action then; after what Jem had done for me last night, I didn't want to keep him waiting. I slid into one of the chairs and quickly ate the breakfast Agatha had prepared—at this rate, I would be gaining a hundred pounds. I had to admit that despite the downsides of living at the Institute, the food was definitely not one of them. Mom could cook well, of course, but she wasn't a trained cook like Agatha was.

Sophie patiently waited while I ate, until I mustered up the courage to ask, "Is Will, uh, always rude to everyone?"

A shadow seemed to cross over her features at the mention of his name, and I immediately regretted asking her. "Mr Herondale speaks his mind whenever he wants to, no matter the situation," she said, her mouth almost seeming to force the words out.

"I hope he's not going to be training me as well," I said, and then instantly clapped a hand over my mouth; I didn't want my dislike to be too obvious in case it got back to him and then he would treat me even _more _horribly than he already did.

But Sophie's expression softened. "Master Jem is able to balance him out, if he is," she told me. "Don't worry, Miss Cartwright."

"I hope so," I mumbled.

* * *

When I'd finished breakfast and Sophie had readjusted my ponytail so that it wouldn't fall out, I stuffed my stele and seraph blade into my pocket before heading up to the attic for training. Jem and I had come up these stairs the night before, but I'd never actually seen the room. My feet ghosted on the stairs as I hurried up them, wondering if I could draw a strength rune on my skin so that I wouldn't be so hopeless—

But I stopped dead when I heard voices floating out from the half-open door; they sounded like Will and Jem arguing. I shrank back, unable to decide whether I should go ahead in or wait until they resolved whatever it was that had them so upset. But then I heard my name—or rather, Will's name _for _me—and I froze.

"…I must have spent six hours in Downworld haunts last night, trying to track down the shape of the ouroboros on that bloody dagger! I was posing as a human subjugate in a gambling house, risking my life every second, while you were gamboling about with future girl—"

"_Will._" Jem sounded faintly amused. "You were not risking your life, and you know I would have not been able to come with you anyway."

"I do know that, James. I was merely expressing my displeasure that, for once, you were getting the better end of the deal than I was."

"The better end of the deal?" Jem echoed. "You have done nothing but insult Abby ever since she arrived!"

"She is too naïve," said Will. "She believes everything I say. If I told her that we were going to use her as a human sacrifice she would ask me where the altar was. I have no interest in plain, dull girls. Besides, she has not read a book in her life."

"What if you were in her position?" Jem asked reasonably. "In a different city, in a different time, with absolutely no one you knew there. You would act strangely, too."

"No, I wouldn't," replied Will. "I would charm the others so profoundly that they would not wish to find a way to send me home."

I heard Jem sigh. "Of course you would," he muttered, but it sounded good-natured enough.

Something must have alerted them to my presence, because I heard footsteps clunking across the room above and the door swung open, Will standing in silhouette against the light. "Well, well, well," he said, staring down at me. "I suppose eavesdropping is socially acceptable in 1978, isn't it, future girl?"

"Ignore him, Abby," I heard Jem say, and he appeared behind Will, all light against the other boy's darkness. "It's what most people do."

"At least I didn't get into the part about the Downworlder brothel I frequented as well," Will said as I ran up the rest of the steps, grateful I didn't have to pull up the skirt of my dress, and emerged into the attic. "I fear that would have been too much for your fragile nerves."

"I think," I said, feeling braver now that I was on eye level with him, "That I might be accustomed to more than you think." Perhaps a Victorian girl would have blushed at the mention of a brothel, but I had no qualms about discussing such subjects with a frank manner. I suppose I'd snuck into one too many R-rated movies.

"Perhaps in the mundane sense," Will agreed, "But Downworlders are of a much different _position_, if you know what I mean—" He was interrupted by the loud clearing of Jem's throat. He glanced over at his _parabatai, _suddenly looking alert, but relaxed when he realized that it had been deliberate. "Care to join in, James?" he asked.

"As much I would love to discuss the debauchery of Downworlders, I fear that Charlotte will reprimand us if she finds out that you have been educating Abby on the, er, peculiar habits of Downworlders rather than training her." Jem walked toward the front of the room, and I got a good look at it for the first time. It was long and narrow, with floorboards that were scuffed from undoubtedly countless years of training. There was a faded orange target on the far wall, and long horizontal windows offered a view out onto the street, which was obscured by a sidewalk and a row of hedges. The ceiling was high and arched; I could see beams placed along the roof.

"Where's the altar?" I asked Will, staring around the room.

For once, he seemed taken aback. "What?"

"For my human sacrifice," I said, enjoying the expression on his face. "Isn't that what I'm up here for?"

I heard Jem laugh across the room—it was a rich sound, full of delight, and I automatically began to giggle too. Will looked back and forth between the two of us and crossed his arms. "I see how it's going to be," he complained. "The two of you are ganging up on me!"

"Oh, don't pretend like you didn't know it was going to happen someday, Will," Jem said, crossing the room with a speed that I was unused to and handing me a long knife, where I looked at it rather warily. "You often leave me alone when you spot an attractive woman. It's about time I did the same. Now," he said before I could ask him whether he had referred to me as 'attractive', and if he had, he needed glasses pronto, "This might seem rather daunting at first, but it's actually a fairly good warm-up exercise. It will test your agility and adeptness at hitting potential targets, which is very useful when you need to get a demon that is out of range."

"So I just hit the orange target?" I asked doubtfully.

Jem nodded. "Just flick your wrist back. It's more about the swiftness than the power, anyway." He took a step back, going to stand against the wall next to Will. Swallowing hard, and wishing their eyes weren't on me, I gripped the hilt of the knife in my right hand and fixed my eyes on the fading orange target, praying to the Angel that I wouldn't mess this up.

"Any day now," Will called lazily. I glanced over at him, my concentration broken, and in my frustration and desire to prove myself I threw the knife too soon. It soared in an arc across the room, striking the wall inches from Jem's head—and feet from the target.

"Oh my God!" I squealed, clapping my hands over my mouth and staring wide-eyed at Jem. "I'm so sorry—I didn't mean to—"

"You're no worse than Will when he first started," Jem said calmly, as if I hadn't nearly impaled him with a knife.

"At least I actually hit the target!" Will protested, but neither of us paid him any attention.

"You have to twist your upper body as you throw," explained Jem, pulling the knife out of the wall and striding over to me. "Like this—" He positioned himself behind me so that our bodies were nearly touching, and lightly grabbed my wrists, guiding my hand back. I felt color flood my cheeks as he pushed back and then twisted me around. Just as he'd said, the knife flew straight across the room, hitting the target dead center.

"James, the only thing that could have made that more painful to watch is if you had hit me in the eye," Will complained, pushing off the wall and moving forward, pulling his own knife out of his weapons belt. "You were supposed to move _with _her, not five feet away from her." To my annoyance, he took Jem's spot and crushed my back tightly against his chest, holding my wrist in a death grip, not at all like Jem's light, feathery touch, and stuffed the knife into my hand. I barely had time to get a solid grip on it before he thrust my hand back. The knife soared across the room at a dizzying speed and slammed into the wall next to the first one, vibrating slightly as it did. It had hit with a much greater force than the first one. I couldn't hide my relief as Will stepped away from me; I'd understood it better when he demonstrated, although I wished it had been Jem.

"You don't look too pleased," Jem said, smiling lightly at me as he went to go retrieve the knives. "Is Will's irresistible charm not working on you?"

Will put a hand to his heart. "Tell me it isn't so! Any girl from any time period should be besotted with me by now."

"I'm afraid I'm not," I told him. "I prefer men who don't feel the need to insult me at every step."

"It builds character," he said, and then in a lower voice, "You certainly need some."

"And perhaps _you_," Jem said, handing me both knives as he glared at Will, "need a little bit less."

The dark-haired boy sighed dramatically. "I can tell when I'm not wanted," he said. "I shall go downstairs and have to depend on Jessamine for company. How you desert me so, Jem!"

"Oh, dear," Jem replied, although his lips were twitching.

As he started toward the door, clearly glad to be leaving the room despite his melodramatics, he called out, "I _was _supposed to be your chaperon, but I doubt Jem would know what to do if you were dancing in front of him, er, dressed in, hmmm, well, if you weren't dressed _at all_, so I don't see why Charlotte is worried, really."

"_What?"_ I screeched.

"You're telling me." Will wrinkled his nose. "It's not exactly my mental picture of choice, either." I heard a whooshing sound from behind me, and Will ducked out of the room just as one of the knives hit the closed door behind him. I turned to Jem, shocked, but from the grin on his face I could tell he hadn't really been intending to hit Will, that it was all in fun.

"He thinks he's doing us a favor," Jem said.

"Why?" I asked, but aside from a slight reddening of his face he didn't answer.

* * *

For the rest of the morning, I was subjected to brutal (in my mind) training exercises, many of which involved me dodging objects Jem threw at me and twisting myself into ridiculous positions and seeing how long I could hold them while wielding a knife. I was forced to do a backflip on a mattress and do a front roll while simultaneously pulling my seraph blade out of my pocket. By the time Jem finally called a break, every inch of my skin was bruised, my muscles were screaming in agony, and my face was bright red, my hair falling out of its ponytail. If this was what being a Shadowhunter was like, I wanted no part in it.

While Jem went to put the knives and mattresses away, I slumped onto the ground, my nose pressing into the wooden floor and my limbs sprawled out in every which direction. "You did very well, Abby," he praised me, and I felt him gently grab my hands and pull me up to a standing position. I groaned and fell back against the wall.

"I'm hopeless," I complained, closing my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose. "I'll never be able to fight a—a _duck, _much less a demon!"

Jem's easy laugh sounded from above me, and, confused, I opened my eyes to see him sitting on one of the rafters on the roof overhead, his feet dangling down. "Don't let Will hear you say that," he called down to me. "He hates ducks."

"I do too," I confessed. "When I was seven, I was feeding the ducks in Golden Gate Park once and one started chasing me. I tried to run away but ended up falling right into the pond. Since then I've always hated the creatures."

Jem laughed again; the sound was as musical as his violin. "Don't let one duck speak for them all," he told me.

"But it's safer that way—how did you get up there, anyway?"

He pointed to a ladder that reached up the far side of the wall. "Care to join me? The view is much better up here."

Although I knew I would regret this later, something propelled me upwards, and I went over to the ladder and hauled myself up it, keeping my eyes fixed on Jem. He beckoned me over to him, and I carefully balanced along the rafters, trying not to look at the hard floor below. I'd never been particularly afraid of heights, but the sight was daunting even for me.

"You look nervous," he commented as I slid onto the rafter next to him. A slight wave of vertigo washed over me, and I couldn't help but nod as I stared down at the sheer drop, my fingers tightening on the rafter. "Take out your stele."

Puzzled, but glad for a distraction, I reached into my weapons pouch and pulled out my stele, popping it open. "Do you remember what the equilibrium rune looks like?" Jem asked.

I squinted at him, trying to recall one of the many runes I'd gazed at in the pages of the _Codex. _"Is it the one that looks like a Z with a dot on either side?"

He nodded. "Try drawing it on your arm."

I obediently rolled up my sleeve and placed the tip of the stele onto the skin of my bare arm, pushing it down hard enough so that it would leave an indentation but wouldn't break the skin, slowly tracing the pattern of a rune onto it. It looked rather messy, and not as neat as I'd hoped, but as I took the stele away it seemed to have done its job: a steady feeling of balance washed over me, and I was no longer scared of falling: in fact, I was so confident that Jem could have physically pushed me off the rafters and I wouldn't be harmed. "I can't believe I didn't think of that before," I told him. "Thank you so much."

"You'll get used to it," he said. "Soon enough you won't even need to use the rune. Everything gets easier in time." The intensity of his voice during his last sentence made me feel as if he was talking about more than training.

"Jem," I asked after a long silence—we seemed to have those a lot—"If you don't mind me asking… why are you in the London Institute anyway? Why didn't you stay in Shanghai?"

He didn't respond right away, and for a moment I thought he wasn't going to answer, but he appeared to be carefully weighing his words. "It was decided that I was to move to either Idris or London, since the Shanghai Enclave suspected that the Greater Demon's _friends_—if you can even call them that—would try to come after me as well. I chose London because neither of my parents had ever been to Idris and I wanted to go somewhere that could still tie me to them."

"I'm sure they would be very proud if they could see you now," I said, and now it was my turn to smile at him as genuinely as I could. No one could smile as honest and truthfully as Jem could, but it was worth it just to see his eyes light up.

The door banged open below us, and I jumped, forgetting for a moment that the newcomer wouldn't be able to see us immediately. I expected it to be Will or Jessamine, but surprisingly it was Henry. His ginger hair looked darkened at the ends, as if it had been singed, and he was carrying a small brown object that looked almost like a remote. As we watched, he pointed it at the target on the wall.

"Henry—" Jem called, and he leapt straight down from the rafter, landing as nimbly and gracefully as a cat. "I wouldn't do that—"

Henry turned toward him, but it was too late: he had already pressed the button. A resounding bang shook the room and I automatically ducked as the windows all shattered, pieces of glass landing in my hair and settling onto the ground.

"Did you see that?" Henry cried excitedly after a moment of stunned silence. "There was a flash of blue light, just like Abby described! It's working!"

I scrambled to my feet and headed for the ladder, climbing down as fast as I could while shaking the glass out of my hair. "_Was _there?" I asked hopefully, darting over to him. "I don't see anything…"

"It only appeared for a second, but it worked!" Henry exclaimed, his eyes shining as he turned to Jem and I. "I reckon it will only take a couple more weeks, Abby, and you should be sent back home!"

"Henry, er…why exactly did you decide to test it up here?" Jem asked as delicately as he could.

Henry blinked owlishly at him. "It's the largest room in the Institute, of course! And I didn't expect anyone to be here."

"Where were you and Charlotte this morning?" I asked, suddenly remembering what Sophie had said.

"Oh, did we go somewhere?" Henry said, looking confusedly at me and scratching his head. "I don't quite recall…"

Jem sighed. "I suppose Charlotte went on her own again," he whispered to me before saying in a normal tone, "Well…that's wonderful, Henry. I do feel that you should perfect the design before testing it on a human." We all looked up at the windows, where a cold breeze was blowing into the room.

Henry nodded, although I wasn't sure he had heard Jem at all. "I'll have to get Lottie to fix that," he muttered to himself. Jem tugged at my sleeve and started towards the door. I followed him, leaving Henry standing in the training room saying something about a "Sensor" and "Demon".

"Does Henry, um, often do things like that?" I asked once we were out of earshot.

Jem, looking worried, nodded. "You'll get used to it after a while, but I don't want you to get your hopes up, Abby. When Henry says a couple of weeks he probably means a couple of months."

A stab of disappointment surged through me, and I couldn't hide the frustration on my face. _Months…_the prospect stretched before me just as horrible as if it he had said years. What was I doing, playacting at being a Shadowhunter? I ought to be helping Henry make a Portal, not talking up on rafters with Jem and trying not to cry whenever Will insulted me!

"Is the Institute really so terrible?" Jem asked. He was smiling, but I thought I could see concern deep in his eyes. "I know you probably think the worst of us…but we really do mean well."

"No, it's not the people," I admitted, although that was stretching the truth. I could probably learn to ignore Jessamine for the most part—it was Will who seemed like he was the more difficult one, though he _had _admittedly been almost joking with me this morning. "It's everything else. I'm just really…homesick. Everything here is so different. I can't take comfort in anything."

Jem pursed his lips, as if he was considering something, and then he asked, "Would it be too forward of me to ask if I could show you around London this afternoon? I did promise I would when you first arrived here, and I think you might feel better afterward—not so foreign."

"I think," I said slowly, "That's just what I need."

* * *

I hadn't left the Institute at all since I'd first arrived there, and was excited at the prospect of getting out. Jem promised to meet me in ten minutes, and I nearly flew back down to my room, ringing the servant bell that would summon Sophie. It was a strange feeling for me, to have a maid. It was strange to have someone dress and undress me, tend to the fire and make my bed. I had told Sophie she didn't have to help if she didn't want to, but she said she was more than happy to oblige me.

By the time she arrived, I'd already changed out of my training gear and pulled on a simple yellow dress, one of the ones that Charlotte had brought me and assured me that Jessamine would never wear. "How was training, miss?" Sophie asked as she deftly laced up the lace on the back of the dress.

"It went well, I think," I mused. "Jem is a very good teacher so far. He's going to take me sightseeing around London."

"Sightseeing?" Sophie asked, and I could have sworn I heard an edge to her voice. She took a step back from me, and I glanced over at her with a questioning look, but she was staring down at the ground. Before I could ask her what was wrong, she straightened up, smiling gently. "I do hope you enjoy yourself, miss. I believe you need it."

I blinked several times at her, wondering if I should ask anyway, but she was already leaving the room, closing the door quietly behind her. I shook my head in confusion and went to sit down on the bed, thinking ruefully about how this new world I'd found myself in was very strange indeed.

Ten minutes, almost to the second, after Jem and I had parted, there was a light knock at the door. "Abby?" Jem asked. "Are you ready?"

I flew over to the dressing-table, where I slung my purse over my shoulder, not caring how odd it looked over the dress, and opened the door, a smile on my face. "Let's go."

* * *

The sky was a gloomy shade of gray, a light rain beginning to drizzle, as we left the Institute and headed down one of the roads that led down to the river. I noticed that Jem had his cane again, although he didn't appear to be relying on it too much. As he walked, he pointed out each of the buildings to me, promising to show me around more thoroughly when it was a nicer day. "London is meant to be seen in the sunlight, although the sun doesn't appear to like London very much," he said ruefully.

I laughed. "Everything is just so…_drab _here. I'm used to color and sun. I wonder if_ I'll_ turn colorless if I stay here long enough."

"When I first came here, it always astounded me that it could rain and rain for months on end without even a glimpse of sunlight," Jem said. "But I eventually got used to it. Soon enough you'll be celebrating just as much as the rest of the city when it _does _happen."

We'd emerged from one of the streets onto a bridge that stretched the expanse of the Thames, connecting one side of the city to another. It was painted red and yellow, with intricate arches and thick stone parapets. "Blackfriars Bridge," Jem announced as he stopped walking, placing his hands on the railing and staring out at the river. I leaned against a parapet and followed his gaze, remembering that he'd mentioned it the first night I was there. "It's not much of a view," he said apologetically, "But it's my favorite place in the city."

I had no idea why, but I let him stand there in silence for a while, concentrating on whatever he was thinking. Finally he turned to me and smiled, that smile that made me feel as if I was the focal point in the universe. "I'm sorry if this tour wasn't as grand as you hoped," he said. "I can bring you around the city now if you want—"

"No, I don't mind here," I said, gazing out at the London skyline. "It's perfect."

Jem chuckled. "That wouldn't be the word most people use to describe this particular spot. The bridge is often overlooked by the more ostentatious, grander bridges. But…I prefer the less showy ones, myself."

"I do too," I admitted. "At least this means there are less people around."

He grinned again, a little lopsidedly this time, and after a moment he said, "Everything is going to be all right, Abby. You know that, right?"

I looked at him, a bit surprised. "I…"

"I know the feeling," he said, and I saw his knuckles whiten slightly on the railing. "I used to have terrible nightmares when I first came to London. I woke up screaming like you did…only there was no one there to comfort me."

"But you're fine now," I told him, and he quickly looked away from me, unable to hold my gaze.

"And that's what I mean, Abby," Jem said. "The people at the Institute…I eventually grew close to them, and they became my family. If you give them a chance, they can become your family as well. Shadowhunters form relationships that, although quicker than mundanes, are generally deeper as well. If someone forms a bond with someone, they are forever intertwined. That is why there are so few divorces in our world. That is why you cannot leave your _parabatai_."

"I can't wait to become close with Will and Jessamine," I said, a bit bitterly. "So I suppose they're like the crazy old aunts in your family you have to love anyway?"

Jem laughed in spite of himself, looking back at me. "That's one way of looking at it," he said, before turning serious. "But you have to give them a chance first."

"I doubt Will is suddenly going to change," I sighed. "He's so…mysterious. And not in that good way, like how you meet a new boy and he's really sarcastic but also kind and caring at the same time."

If Jem had no idea what I was talking about, he didn't show it. "Everyone has their secrets," he said quietly. "Will and Jessie and I…we're all orphans. Henry and Charlotte, though they are not that much older than us, are our surrogate parents."

This was news to me. "Jessamine and Will are orphans? I was thinking they were just training here…"

Jem shook his head. "Jessie's parents died in a fire when she was very young. They despised the Clave and all it stood for, and because of that none of the other families would take her in. That's why she's so bitter…she didn't want this life, but she has to live it anyway."

"And Will?"

This time it took him longer to speak. "Will's father married a mundane woman and left the Clave—rather like you—and when Will was twelve, he arrived at the Institute. His parents came looking for him a couple of weeks later, but he refused to see them."

I was struck by this new information. "So he chose to become a Shadowhunter, then."

"I suppose." Jem's tone was suddenly a bit farther away—not colder, precisely, but more neutral. "Charlotte did tell me that he said 'I have nowhere else to go'…"

"Which would be a rather odd thing to say if he'd chosen it." Something in Jem's tone told me that he didn't know the answer any more than I did, so I let the matter drop. "He should still be able to see his parents if he so chooses. It's all the Clave's fault." My tone was uncharacteristically bitter, and I saw a hint of surprise in Jem's face. "If they didn't have that rule, or if they'd allowed my mother to Ascend, Dad wouldn't have had to face that Greater Demon unarmed and been killed. I know, it was illegal for him to do it, but you did tell me that Shadowhunters have stronger bonds than mundanes. They should have taken that into account—"

"Abby." Jem's voice was very soft. "Even if your father _had _still been a Shadowhunter, there is no guarantee he would have survived the Greater Demon attack. My parents were both trained and they still couldn't win."

"But I can't help wondering how my life would be different if my father was still alive." Hesitantly, I reached into my purse and pulled out the picture of my father, handing it over to Jem. "That was taken on the day I was born."

He studied it for a moment, smiling gently. "You look very much like him."

"That's what Mom always said," I mused, leaning back on the railing and staring up at the cloudy sky. "I wish I remembered…"

Jem's hand suddenly tightened on his cane, and I glanced over at him quizzically. He was staring at me strangely, as if trying to figure out the best way to tell me something. "You deserve an explanation, Abby," he said.

"About what?"

"About me." Jem leaned forward, his silver eyes fixed on mine. "I have been trying to decide whether to tell you or not all day. Will didn't want me to—that's why he was in a bad mood when you overheard us in the training room—but I feel that you deserve to know. You already know that I'm ill."

"You mean explain why you were coughing up blood the other night and I had to give you that powder?" I asked.

He nodded, seeming to take a deep breath before speaking. "The reason the Greater Demon—it was called Yanluo—attacked the Shanghai Institute was because of a grudge it held against my mother. She had destroyed many of its eggs in a raid, and it searched for revenge. I was eleven at the time, and it tortured both of my parents before injecting me with demon poison." He swallowed, looking away from me. "It was…horrible, to say the least. I saw all sorts of visions…horrible metal creatures and London in flames. For three days, my parents screamed out for me. My father died first, and the last memory I have of my mother is her crying _'Jian, Jian_'—my given name. James is my British name." He smiled, sadly, but to me it looked like more of a grimace. "It was days after that before others realized what was wrong and rescued me from the Institute. But it was too late—I was already addicted to the demon poison. I have to take a drug every day—it's called _yin fen_—and it contains small amounts of demon blood, enough to give me the fix I so desperately need. But it's slowly killing me as well. If I stop taking it, the withdrawal will kill me."

"So you're doomed either way," I said softly. I didn't want to speak too loudly; I almost felt as if Jem was a frightened rabbit and any sudden noise would startle him, although I knew he was stronger than that.

"Yes." He let out a sigh. "I will not last the decade. The _yin fen _drains me of my coloring—I used to have dark hair and eyes—and occasionally, when I have not taken enough, I go into fits and the Silent Brothers have to assist me. Will is usually the one to find me, but you were unlucky enough to be the only one there last night. I had not taken any of the drug at all yesterday."

"But—aren't you looking for a cure? Surely there must be one—"

Jem shook his head slowly. "There is no cure. I used to believe it might be possible, but years have gone by…and there are thousands, if not millions, of people who are addicted to _yin fen_. If there was one, it would have been found by now."

I didn't know what to say. We were both silent for a long time. My brain was scrambling, trying to figure out how I could comfort him. "So why didn't you go to Idris? It is the Shadowhunter country…" I said. "Maybe there would have been help for you there—"

"I never regretted choosing England. If I hadn't come to London, I wouldn't have met Will, or Charlotte, or Henry, or..." He cut himself off. "That is why I am a Shadowhunter, Abby. I could choose to let my illness take over me, but to do so would be a disservice to my parents and Yanluo would have won. I fight so I can save others from meeting the same fate as my parents. Besides, I know I will see them again."

"How?" I couldn't help but ask.

He smiled. "I believe that if one is meant to be with someone, they will meet again in the next life."

"So...like reincarnation?" I asked stupidly.

Jem nodded, still smiling at me. "It is not a very popular opinion amongst Shadowhunters, to be sure. As Will often says, 'We are nothing but dust and shadows'. What do you believe?"

I was startled at being put on the spot. "I'd like to believe there's a life after this one," I finally said. "Looking at it from a mundane perspective, if demons and angels exist, then I should think it logical that God exists, too."

He nodded slowly. "That is a very good point. I am inclined to agree with you."

"Wait," I said, another question popping into my mind. "Why didn't Will want me to know about your…condition?"

Jem's face suddenly hardened. "He did not think you would be so…understanding of me. Many believe that the addiction is somehow my fault, and they will insult me."

"But it's not your fault!" I demanded, so vehemently that it surprised even me. "How could anyone think that?"

"You would be surprised."

I sensed that this was a touchy subject for him, and tried to change it to something more lighthearted. "Well, you must be getting lots of female attention, then. You are so kind, any girl would want to marry you—"

"I will never marry," Jem said, and his tone wasn't self-pitying in the least, just matter-of-fact, as if he was stating that the sky was blue. "I have just over a year left to live, if that, and it would be selfish for me to marry when I would die soon afterwards. Besides..." he trailed off, looking away from me, out over the water, where the slight breeze ruffled his silvery hair, "No girl would want a dying boy as her husband. They would prefer someone like Will, with all of his energy and vitality."

I was silent too; struggling to think of what to say. It was obvious that Jem didn't expect me to answer, but I felt I had to speak. "But you..." I struggled to put my thoughts into coherent words. "...I'm sure that you would give them everything you had, make them a part of yourself. I should think that would be enough for them."

Jem shook his head slightly, the movement so small that I wasn't sure if I was imagining it or not. "There is no such future for me." He met my gaze again, looking me squarely in the eyes, and I felt like crying; he had resigned himself to his fate a long time ago, but it was still new to me. I gave him the saddest smile I could manage. I looked down at the bridge again, and saw that our hands were still inches apart on the rail. I had the sudden urge to put my hand over his and squeeze it, but while I was still deliberating, the moment passed, and Jem straightened up, turning away from me. "We should get back to the Institute," he said. "The others will be wondering where we are."

I knew he was right, but I couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed. Jem gallantly held out his arm to me, and I took it. As we walked back across Blackfriars Bridge, neither one of us speaking, I could feel the weight of the secrets we both carried press in on us.


	6. Six

**One of my reviewers (hi, _Dreamless Midnights! _:D) pointed out that Jem seemed to tell Abby about his addiction to _yin fen_ very quickly. This is true; it definitely is a bit odd that Jem told her everything after they had only known each other for a few days (since it took him quite a bit longer to tell Tessa in _Clockwork Angel)_ but it's really only because Abby saw him so ill. He realizes that he'll have to tell her sometime and he figures that it's better sooner than later. He wouldn't have told her if she hadn't had to give him the drug, though. (The part of the conversation in the training room Abby didn't hear was Will trying to persuade Jem to lie to her, but Jem is such an honest and kind person he felt that he should tell her the truth, although he didn't particularly want to.)**

* * *

**I**f I'd ever thought that training would become easier with practice, I would soon find that I had been very, very wrong.

"I think I've got the hang of it, Jem," I gasped out with my last remaining breath, trying not to look down from where I was crouched on the rafters, my hands gripping on to the wood for dear life. He had taken it upon himself to become my teacher, and if I'd thought that his gentle demeanor meant that he would go easy on me, I was, again, proved wrong. He was relentless, pushing me as hard as I could go and keeping me on my toes, but at the same time he seemed to instinctively know what my limits actually were and he would never force me to do anything I really didn't want to do. From learning how to throw knives _correctly _to understanding my enemies' potential weaknesses, I had learned more about survival skills in practice than I had ever learned about _anything _in theory.

"Do you?" his quiet voice said from behind me, though not without a hint of amusement, and I whirled around, my hands slipping a little on the polished surface. I let out a frustrated groan, blowing the hair out of my face. My ponytail was falling out and I constantly had to keep shaking my hair away, since my position was far too precarious to consider letting go of the rafter and adjusting it.

Today's exercise was evasion, meaning that I had to practice throwing my seraph blade at targets marked on the floor while simultaneously avoiding him. I'd stopped for a moment to catch my breath, thinking he was on the other side of the room, but he moved so quickly and silently that it was impossible to be confident he would stay in one place. "I guess not," I groaned, reluctantly leaping to the next rafter and pulling myself up. It was easier to concentrate on the task at hand with my courage and equilibrium runes, which were inked across my arms like an array of tattoos—I was starting to get used to them—but my brain still hadn't quite adjusted to being suspended fifty feet off the ground for hours at a time. I'd used ropes at first, but today Jem had decided that I was ready to graduate to the "real thing", as I'd sadly called it.

"I know you can do this, Abby," he said encouragingly, his silver eyes glinting in the sunlight streaming through the high windows. "You've been doing remarkably well."

I wasn't so sure about that—I'd fallen on my face more times than I cared to admit—but it was nevertheless gratifying to hear that he was at least trying to make me feel better. "In whose estimation?" I grumbled, but pulled my seraph blade out of its sheath and glanced back at Jem, who was already beginning to pursue me.

Even though I knew he wouldn't _really _harm me if I was caught, I still felt a rush of adrenaline as I jumped to the next beam, and the next, trying to find a position where I could throw my seraph blade at the target without getting caught by him in the process. Seeing as how Jem moved so rapidly, this was a near-impossible task.

Just when I thought that I had enough time to ready my aim and jump out of the way, I sensed Jem right behind me again—I'd discovered that he preferred the elements of surprise and agility, whereas Will charged straight for his target and tried to intimidate them into running away. Both of these tactics were effective in their own ways.

"By the Angel," I groaned—I'd found myself speaking like a true Shadowhunter more than once—and forced my body to move again, narrowly managing to dodge out of Jem's grasp and somehow not accidentally stabbing myself with the blade. I was one for small victories.

Below us, the clock chimed twelve, signaling my hour-long break, and in relief I secured myself into a more comfortable position, thinking that Jem would stop, and flung my seraph blade at the target. It stuck right in the middle, and I grinned in victory, already preparing to jump down from the rafters.

There was a tap on my shoulder, and I twisted my head around to see that Jem, in fact, _hadn't _stopped the training. If he had been a demon, I would have been dead long ago…but as it was, I wouldn't have stopped for lunch if I was fighting a _real _demon. "That was an excellent shot," he said, grinning, "But you have to remember to always watch your back."

He said those words at least five times a day, and I _still _found it difficult to remember them in the heat of the moment. "Don't you think I would have absorbed some of those tips by now? I'll have to face the fact that I'm going to be stabbed in the back—_literally—_one day."

"Not necessarily," Jem said lightly as we leapt down to the floor, me ecstatic at feeling solid ground under my feet again. "You just need to learn how to focus on more than one thing at a time—which is why I'm making you do this exercise."

"Easier said than done," I mumbled, pulling what was left of my ponytail out and threading the elastic over my wrist. At least I didn't have to worry about training for the next twenty-four hours—the routine was the same every day: training in the morning, sightseeing and studying the _Codex _in the afternoon, and free time after dinner (which usually turned into the music room for me).

It had been two weeks since I'd arrived at the Institute, and I found that I was adjusting much quicker than I'd thought I would, considering my situation. I did still wake up in the middle of the night after a horrible nightmare, but to my knowledge I hadn't screamed again and Jem had never mentioned anything. I would occasionally become depressed and have a good cry when I thought no one was around, but I_ did_ know that (most of) the residents of the Institute were trying their best to make me feel welcome and at home, and I couldn't express the depths of my gratitude towards them. Besides, I was so busy most of the day that I couldn't concentrate on anything but my training.

Henry, unfortunately, hadn't made any progress in creating a Portal (I'd gone down to his laboratory once, but I could never get past the fact that it was also a crypt and I found myself escaping the room after half an hour) but Jem and Charlotte had both assured me that if anyone _could _invent something that would be able to send me home, it was Henry. I wasn't as confident as they were, considering his track record, but I supposed even the most brilliant inventors had started off with failures.

Jem and I had become quite close, or so I liked to believe, during the weeks I had been living at the Institute. I spent most of my days with him—he was my teacher in the mornings and my sightseeing guide in the afternoon. Every day he would show me a different part of London—from Whitechapel to Fleet Street, I had been given the whirlwind tour of the city. Jem was so knowledgeable about everything—he knew more than most of the locals did—that I was certain he could have been a successful tour guide if he wasn't a Shadowhunter or musician. I was even beginning to find my way around London without his assistance anymore, and I was sure I would be able to find my way back to the Institute if I ever became lost. Nevertheless, I still refused to leave the building by myself—I wasn't _that _confident yet.

Although Jem had told me more about his parents and his early life in Shanghai, as well as teaching me a few simple phrases in Chinese, he carefully avoided the topic of his illness and, aside from his cane and the occasional cough, nobody mentioned it or even pretended it existed at all. I could sympathize with him on that aspect—if I was in his place, I wouldn't want constant fuss and attention either; I would want to let it hinder me as little as possible. Aside from once ending training early because he was feeling tired, I barely noticed that he was paler than the rest of us, or that he sometimes seemed as if he was relying on his cane to hold him up.

Jem had been my companion on all but one of our daily walks—the previous weekend he and Will had gone off to track down a Ravener demon that had been reportedly evading capture for the past several months, and Charlotte had instead assigned Jessamine to be my guide, a gesture that was unappreciated by both of us. Instead of showing me around the city like Jem did, Jessamine had dragged me to a mundane dress shop and forced me to stay there for three hours while she pranced in front of the mirror, asking me if she looked beautiful in the dresses (my answer always had to be yes). Charlotte had been furious when she'd found out, but the outing hadn't been without its discoveries: while I was trying to make polite conversation, I'd mentioned that Thomas seemed to be interested in Sophie—I'd seen him staring at her with admiration and longing more than once across the table during meals—and Jessamine had maliciously informed me that Sophie wasn't in love with Thomas, but with Jem. This had been a bit of a shock to me at first, but after giving it a bit of thought I had to admit that it made sense: Sophie was always asking after Jem, and she did seem to be very fond of him. It also explained her stiff demeanor whenever Jem and I came back from our walks and why I sometimes felt as if she disliked me. "But Jem will never love her back," Jessamine had said cruelly, pirouetting in front of the mirror in her bright crimson dress.

"Why not?" I asked, knowing that it wasn't wise to begin gossiping with the girl who most likely gossiped about _me_ behind my back, but I was unable to contain my curiosity.

"Because Sophie is just a servant," Jessamine replied dismissively, as if we were merely talking about clothes rather than someone's feelings. "She might have been pretty _once_, but no man except for Thomas will ever give her a second glance—not with that scar. She is far too common."

"Well, _I _like her," I'd said hotly; despite Sophie's apparent jealousy of me, I was very grateful for her help getting me into various dresses every morning and for tending to the fireplace before I went to bed.

Jessamine had glanced at me with faint amusement. "You would," she had said unkindly, and the subject had been dropped.

But our conversation hadn't left me without food for thought: I'd observed Jem's behavior toward Sophie later that day, and it was obvious that Jessamine was right: there was no added spark in Jem's eyes when he looked at Sophie like there was in Thomas's: he treated her like he treated me and Charlotte, with respect and friendship, but nothing deeper than that. I found myself secretly relieved by this fact, but although I had examined it at great length I had no idea why I would feel _relieved _that Jem didn't return Sophie's feelings. It wasn't because of the fact that I preferred her with Thomas, or wished for her to acknowledge his own adoration for her: I didn't know either of them well enough for that. No, there was no conceivable reason as to why I was glad that Jem wasn't in love with Sophie. At any rate, I felt horrible for even _thinking _that, but of course I wasn't going to bring up the topic around Jessamine again.

I didn't bother to change back into a dress when we went downstairs for lunch; Charlotte allowed me to wear my training gear around the Institute as long as the Clave wasn't visiting. The first time this occurred had earned me quiet laughter from Jem, bafflement from Henry, disdain from Jessamine, and open mockery from Will. Whatever notions I'd had that perhaps the brooding, attractive boy didn't hate me so much after all after our first day in the training room vanished once I'd hesitantly smiled at him and received a glower in response. He completely and totally ignored me if I ever tried to speak to him, and the only time he would ever acknowledge my presence was insulting every aspect of my appearance and abilities to someone else as if I wasn't in the room. Jem had once asked me, concern in his eyes, if Will was bothering me, but I had told him that I didn't care, although that had been a lie. I didn't want to let him get to me, and perhaps if my life hadn't been as topsy-turvy as it currently was I would be able to brush off his insults, but as it was he reminded me too much of the boys who had laughed at my father's grave, with that cruel glint in his eyes. Handsome or not—and I was ashamed to realize that I might have even developed a crush on him had he not been so impolite—I wished I didn't have to face him every day.

As usual, Jem and I were the last ones in—we had the farthest to walk, after all. Jem took his usual seat beside Will and I sat down next to Charlotte and Henry—I felt protected near them, safer in a way I couldn't quite explain. As I dug in to my chicken and tea, I noticed that the mood at the table was very quiet indeed, devoid of Will's offensive jokes and Henry's excitement over whatever invention he was attempting to create next. Charlotte seemed quiet and withdrawn, worry buried deep in her brown eyes. "What is it?" I asked her quietly, but of course the whole table heard.

"Another mundane child has disappeared," she said with a heavy sigh. "We are still no closer to finding the cause."

I met Jem's eyes from across the table, his now looking just as anxious. "Another mundane?" I asked. "You mean there has been more than one disappearance?"

Charlotte nodded. "There have been rumours circulating for quite a while that mundane children are being dragged off the streets and then systematically murdered, but we do not yet know how or why."

"That's terrible," I agreed, "But why would Shadowhunters have anything to do with that? I thought we weren't supposed to involve ourselves in mundane affairs." Dimly, I realized how different I sounded speaking those words, as if I had never wished to become a mundane myself. Perhaps the two weeks at the London Institute had changed me more than I thought.

"_We?_" Will asked snidely. "You are hardly more than a mundane yourself."

It was the first time he had addressed me directly in a long while, and I felt my heart sink. Luckily, Charlotte didn't pay him any mind as she answered, "We are technically not supposed to, but we have evidence that there may be a larger conspiracy occurring. Last month, Jem and Will found the body of a fourteen-year-old mundane girl who appeared to have been stabbed to death. The symbol on the dagger lying next to her, an ouroboros, has been traced back to several Downworld haunts."

"So the children are being killed by Downworlders?" I asked, feeling slightly sick. I had never met a warlock, vampire, faerie or werewolf, and after hearing this piece of news I didn't wish to in the least.

"Not necessarily," Jem spoke up. "The symbol often appears with mundanes who involve themselves with magic. There could be any number of things that are going on. We do not know if this is the work of one demon or Downworlder, or if it is on a much larger scale."

"I don't suppose you know what an ouroboros actually is?" Will asked me snidely. "If you are to someday accompany Jem and I on one of our assignments investigating a Downworlder haunt, it would do you well to become more informed." If I had been more outgoing or bold, I would have shot back "And I don't suppose _you _know what the word 'politeness' means?" but as it was, I could only shake my head blankly. He reached into his pocket and slid a dagger across the table at me, its blade encrusted with dried blood. I shied away as it spun toward me, thankfully stopping at the edge of my plate, but I wasn't bothered by the blood: it was the symbol on the handle that I recognized: two snakes biting each other's tails.

"I've seen that before," I gasped. "On my first night here, I passed by a carriage with that symbol painted on it."

Now I had everyone's undivided attention: with a bit of satisfaction I noticed that even Will looked surprised. "Did you notice anything else about the carriage, Abby?" Charlotte asked, leaning forward and looking ardently at me. "Any other unusual symbols or markings?"

I nodded, casting my mind back to the words painted on the side of the carriage. "It had the letters _The Pandemonium Club _painted in gold, but that was it. I didn't notice anything unusual about the horses or driver."

Jem and Will exchanged a long, meaningful look; I glanced nervously at Charlotte, hoping that I'd given her the information she needed. "The Pandemonium Club is an association of mundanes who dabble in the magical arts, hoping to become powerful," Jem explained for my benefit. "It is run by Downworlders, and the mundanes usually do not meet the most pleasant ends."

"So then the disappearances _are _connected with Downworlders?" I asked, struggling to understand.

"It seems likely," Charlotte agreed. She still looked concerned, but somehow satisfied, as if she was one step closer to figuring out the problem. At the opposite end of the table, Jessamine looked disinterested, as if she hadn't listened to a word of the conversation.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking, James?" Will asked smugly, standing up from the table.

"Unfortunately, I believe I am," Jem replied, reaching for his cane and standing as well.

Charlotte looked resigned. She turned to Henry, but he seemed to be more preoccupied with the gasolier hanging from the ceiling. "Promise me you'll be careful," she begged of the two boys.

Will pretended to be hurt. "Since when am I _not?_"

Henry jerked to life with a start, staring at Jem and Will confusedly. "Where are they going, Lottie?" he asked Charlotte.

But it was Will who answered instead, his eyes sparking with a wicked excitement: "We are going to investigate a certain Pandemonium Club."

* * *

To my disappointment, Jem was gone for the rest of the afternoon, carrying out whatever investigation he was doing with Will. There was no way I was going to go anywhere with Jessamine ever again, and everyone else at the Institute was too busy with their own tasks to take me sightseeing. I supposed I _could _go for a walk on my own, but it was now pouring heavily outside and I didn't want to brace myself against the rain.

I ended up spending the afternoon in the training room, perfecting my throws and scuttling across the rafters, pretending that Jem was after me. Most of the pressure was taken off when there was nobody around to watch me, but that meant most of the fun was taken away as well. I ended up just sitting on the rafters, staring outside at the water streaking the windows and feeling unusually lonely.

* * *

Will and Jem still hadn't arrived back by dinner that night, and I went up to the music room by myself. Usually Jem would join me, and I would play the piano while he played his violin, spending the evening in companionable silence. I'd taught him a few songs on the piano so far, and he had taught me at least to _hold _the violin—but whenever I tried to play it always came out sounding like a tortured cat. Jem had tried to reassure me that I would get better with practice, but he told me that about everything and, at least in the case of the violin, it seemed as though I was getting _worse, _not better_._

After I had played a few songs, I decided to go to bed early. There was no point staying up later, anyway, and Jem would expect me to be wide awake for our training the next morning.

I felt almost like a ghost as I slipped through the silent halls of the Institute, moving almost noiselessly. I was sure that I would never be able to move with the composure and elegance that both Charlotte and Sophie possessed, but at least I wasn't waking up the entire neighborhood with my footsteps like I had used to.

A fire was already blazing in the grate when I reached my room. I frowned—that was certainly odd; usually Sophie didn't arrive until much later. But when I pushed open the door, I was met with a tall, dark figure sitting at the table.

I shrieked and jumped back, my heart pounding. Will glanced over at me, eyebrows raised. "Some Shadowhunter you are proving to be," he said carelessly. "I never thought I'd see the day where I would actually believe Jessamine is more adept at something."

"What do you want?" I demanded, too startled to be polite. It was then that I saw my purse was open on the table, my father's journal lying in front of Will. "You _read_ it?" I gasped, feeling the blood drain from my face. It was one thing to have Charlotte read it, but _Will_…

"Which question do you want me to answer first?" he drawled, a wide smirk on his handsome features.

I wasn't sure what expression was on my face, but it was enough to make him answer, "It was a bit of a boring read, really. Nothing very interesting happened—I was disappointed."

"Well, he was _killed _twelve hours after the last entry!" I said, my voice spiraling up into hysteria. It was the first time I'd raised my voice to Will, and I immediately regretted it, thinking he would snap at me right back.

But, instead of being annoyed, he looked almost _pleased _at my outburst. "Anger suits you, future girl," he said to me, standing up and scraping the legs of the chair behind him. "It gives me hope that you actually _have _a personality."

"Anybody would be angry if you went through their private things!" I snapped, seriously considering smacking him over the head with the purse.

He ignored my comment, instead remarking, "It is a shame about your father. Greater Demons can overwhelm even the most skilled Shadowhunt—oh, _mundanes_."

Every word he said was just riling me up even more. "Why are you here?" I asked between clenched teeth.

"Waiting for you, of course," he said, walking over to me; I instantly took a step away from him. "Get dressed—you are going to the Pandemonium Club."

"With you and Jem?" I asked, confusion taking the place of anger. "But I thought you already went—"

"We found _information _on where it is being held, not the club itself," Will explained, sounding as if he was talking to a child. "Now hurry up; we don't have all night."

But I refused to move. "_Why?_"

He let out an exasperated sigh, clearly not thrilled that I was asking so many questions. "Because you are the one who gave us the information, after all, and because it is so packed with mundanes, you will be able to blend in with them easier than Jem and I can. Besides, aren't you ever going to put your training to actual _use?_"

"But Charlotte—"

"—Is not going to find out." Will strode towards the door. "I'm giving you five minutes to get dressed, unless you would like my assistance—"

"_No!_" I cried, and glared until he closed the door behind him, still with that idiotic smirk on his face. When the room was quiet again, I went over to the table and flipped through the journal, making sure that no pages were ripped or illegible. The idea of him reading my father's words was absolutely mortifying:

**_March 5, 1962_**

_Grace has gone into labour. I rushed her to the hospital earlier today and despite her reassurances, I still don't trust mundane medicine. I want to call my parents-my mother would surely know what to do, but I do not want them to face the Clave's wrath if they ever found out I attempted to communicate with them._

**_March 6, 1962_**

_There is still no change. Grace is in terrible pain and I can do nothing to help. I need to do something. The Silent Brothers could help, but I cannot call on them. I have never regretted leaving the Clave until now._

**_March 7, 1962_**

_Thank the Angel-Grace has given birth to a baby girl. We named her Abby-Abigail Lucie Cartwright. I know that my grandmother Lucie would be honoured that we are using her name. I just wish she could see her great-granddaughter. She has the Cartwright looks-blonde hair and brown eyes. She seems extraordinarily intelligent for a newborn-her eyes have already focused!_

The next fourteen days were all brief entries as well, describing our return home and my sleeping patterns (or lack thereof) as well as how I had smiled at Dad while he was playing with me; all the way to the very last entry on March twenty-first: _Abby gripped my finger today with her tiny hand and laughed when she refused to let go…I may have given up a Shadowhunter life, but the Angel has blessed me with a family, something that I cherish even more than my heritage. I just wish that I had the chance to bid goodbye to Marcus and my family before I left the Clave…perhaps I can contact Brother Zachariah and ask him to pass a message on to them…_

Marcus Herondale, I knew, had been my father's closest friend when they were children, and judging by the descriptions I had heard here, they had probably been _parabatai _as well. With an unpleasant jolt, I wondered if Marcus was related to Will in any way.

Speaking of Herondales, there was a loud, impatient knock on my door and Will called out, "What are you doing in there, future girl? Do you need help figuring out what a dress is?"

Sometimes the best reaction was no reaction at all, so I stuffed the journal back into my purse and hid it under the mattress in case anyone else decided to come snooping around in my room, before reaching into my wardrobe and pulling out the first dress I saw: a frilly burgundy number that I had never worn before. To my relief, it didn't look like it would be impossible to lace up, and very aware of Will standing just outside the door, I pulled off my training clothes and stepped into the dress, twisting my arms around my back so I could try to tie up the laces into the most complicated knots I knew, wishing I had paid more attention when we were learning knots in Girl Scouts.

When I was fairly certain that the dress wouldn't fall off me, I pulled my hair into a messy bun before finally walking over to the door and opening it. Will was leaning on the opposite wall, against Jem's bedroom door, his eyes half-closed. "_There _you are," he said disapprovingly. "I was beginning to fall asleep waiting for you."

_I liked you better when you were ignoring me, _I thought sullenly, especially since I was sure that I had taken less than my allotted time of five minutes, but I mutely followed him downstairs and out into the entryway, the only light guiding our way the torches burning on the walls. When I felt the first rush of cold night air blowing in from the front door, Will fell back and turned into another hallway.

"What are you doing?" I asked, sure it was some sort of trick.

"Going to get Thomas," he replied, sounding preoccupied. "Go out to the carriage first."

I supposed I could try to escape, but there was nowhere I _could _go and I had no other choice; I didn't want to face Will's wrath. Besides, I felt safe when Jem was around. After watching Will disappear into the darkness of the Institute, I hesitantly stepped outside onto the front steps. It had stopped raining, but the air was still humid and stifling—it was nearly June—and I felt myself already beginning to sweat in my thick dress.

The carriage and horses—a pair of huge black stallions that Jem had told me were named Balios and Xanthos— were already waiting just inside the gate. Holding my dress up so it wouldn't get wet in the mud that caked the ground, I slowly picked my way down the pathway and reached out to open the door of the carriage, seeing that Jem was already sitting inside.

"Will, what took you so—" he began, but his silver eyes widened when he saw it was me. "Abby!" he exclaimed midsentence. "What are you doing here?"

"She's coming with us," Will's deep voice said from behind me, and I gasped—I hadn't heard him come up behind me. Scuttling into the carriage, I sat down on the seat next to Jem, who looked thoroughly upset.

"Will, you can't bring her!" Jem was appalled; it was obvious he hadn't been in on the plan.

"I believe I just did." He looked smug. "She can finally make herself useful—she knows more about mundanes than we do."

Jem looked poised to argue further, but I quickly said, "Don't worry about it—I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" he asked as Will disappeared again, presumably to instruct Thomas on where to take us. "It's not too late to go back—"

"Jem, I'm fine," I said, although my hands were shaking and my heart was pounding. I didn't want to chicken out in front of them, not now, after I'd trained so hard.

He seemed about to say something else, but his eyes fell on my dress and his eyebrows drew together in a frown. "Abby, er, your dress is coming undone," he said, trying and failing to look away.

I could already feel myself blushing—this was my second embarrassing moment of the evening. Why hadn't Will told me? He'd been walking _behind _me on our way to the carriage. Then again, it was just like him to stay silent and wait until I could be humiliated at the worst possible moment. "Can you tie it up?" I asked him, beginning to stand and then wondering if this was against the strict Victorian morals.

"Yes, of course," Jem mumbled; at least he sounded as awkward as I did. He stood up too and I could feel his fingers fumbling with the laces. We were standing even closer together than we had when he'd been teaching me how to hold the violin, and I could feel his heart stuttering against my back. There was something electrifying about this moment, and the knowledge that he was so close made me want to lean into him further. The dress was already beginning to slip off, an unfortunate slight I hadn't noticed when I'd been hurrying into the carriage, and I could feel Jem's warm breath on my bare shoulder. My worry about Will's plan had somehow disappeared, and all I could concentrate on was Jem—I had never been standing this close to a boy before for so long. Some part of my mind was aware that he had finished lacing up the dress, but neither of us made any move to pull away.

I was beginning to wonder if I should say something or reach over to touch his hand when Will bounded into the carriage again and we instantly jumped apart. "Perhaps you two _do _need a chaperone," he said, pretending to cover his eyes from the sight. "That at least would explain why you spend so much time in the training room."

"He was just helping me lace up my dress," I muttered. Will sat down across from us and continued to smirk evilly. "I didn't see him lacing up anything," he said. Neither Jem nor I spoke, although I desperately wanted to alleviate the awkward atmosphere that had suddenly sprung up between us.

The carriage jerked to life then, the horses' hooves clopping on the uneven ground, and we rumbled on towards the Pandemonium Club.


	7. Seven

**I** spent the carriage ride wondering how to lighten the tense atmosphere; I didn't understand why things were so awkward. All Jem had done was lace up the back of my dress. Was that taboo in Victorian times? And why had I wanted to lean back into him, to touch his hand and feel his breath on my bare skin? Could I possibly be attracted to him?

No, I told myself, this was _not _the time to be developing feelings for _anyone_, let alone Jem, a boy who would be dead within the year. He had told me so himself. Besides, there was absolutely no way that he could feel attracted to me in the slightest. I hadn't even had a _friend _who was a boy before, let alone a boyfriend. It was best to just put that incident behind me and learn how to tie up my own dress next time.

None of us spoke until the carriage ground to an abrupt halt: Will was the first one out, easily leaping to the ground and disappearing off into the night. "Does he, uh, do that a lot?" I asked, waiting for Jem to retrieve his cane and climb out after him.

"All the time," Jem said easily. "One gets used to it quite quickly." I breathed a sigh of relief—the color was gone from both of our faces and our easy closeness had started back up again. I hopped out of the carriage first, earning myself an amused chuckle from him.

"What?" I said, a bit defensively. "Am I supposed to wait for you to help me out?"

"Yes, you are," a different, though no less kind, voice said. Thomas had stopped the carriage on what appeared to be a nondescript street, and the people surging around us didn't so much as give the area we stood in a second glance. It took me a moment to realize there had to be glamours at work. "You are quite a peculiar girl, Miss Cartwright," he told me. "But I daresay that you are," he shot a half-glance at Jem, "Exactly what the Institute needs."

According to Will—who explained it to me with no small amount of exasperation—Thomas had parked the carriage (which most certainly wasn't the proper term, but it would take more than two weeks for me to get used to the old way of speaking) several streets away from our _real _destination. After instructing Thomas to be back within the hour, we began to head through the nearly-deserted, shadowy streets. I trailed along behind Will and Jem—the dim light from the gaslamps cast odd shadows on their skin and made Jem look even paler and sickly than he already did. Averting my eyes from his figure, I glanced down at my feet, picking their way through the cobblestone street worn by years of horses' hooves, and took a deep breath. The river must be close; I could taste the Thames on my tongue, the mist seeping through my clothes and into my skin.

The two Shadowhunters eventually stopped in front of a lighted storefront, waiting for me to catch up. I could hear dim music playing from inside, and blurred figures could be seen moving around inside. I licked my lips and tried to look nonchalant when in reality I felt like a quivering mess. Now I was wishing I had been able to stand up to Will and refuse to go along with his ridiculous plan.

"Remember," Will instructed me, "Act like you are merely a mundane interested in the Shadow World—which should be quite easy for you."

"Then why are you telling me to remember it?" I asked quietly, but my weak comeback fell on deaf ears: Will had already started toward the door. Jem followed him, so unless I wanted to stand out on the street for the next hour, I was forced to follow Will as well.

"The Pandemonium Club meets in a different location every week," Jem explained to me, staring up at the light blazing from the windows and leaning on his cane. I suddenly felt as if I had been catapulted straight into a Charles Dickens novel—I'd once watched _A Tale of Two Cities _as an after school special when there was nothing else on TV—and sometimes I just had to blink and shake my head to remind myself that nothing was a dream, that this was real life and I had to get used to it for the next undetermined length of time.

In the meantime, Will had already strode up to the door and was staring back at Jem, impatience written all over his face. "Hurry up, James!" he called. "You're hardly being inconspicuous."

Jem shot me an apologetic smile as he headed after his _parabatai_, and I reluctantly gathered up my dress and followed him, somehow managing to step right into a puddle in the middle of the street. So much for Shadowhunter dignity.

I made sure to stick close to Jem as we stepped inside, keeping my arms close to my body as if I could somehow conserve space, not wanting to draw attention to myself. For the first time, I wished I was even shorter than I already was.

A thick haze hung low over the room, reminiscent of the fog that constantly blanketed London. But this cloud of smoke seemed toxic somehow, and as I inhaled I swore I could feel it entering my lungs and sticking to the back of my throat.

Dozens of tables lined the room, some stacked with cards and others with poker chips. I could barely see for the haze of smoke that curled from the ends of countless cigars and pipes. What seemed to be hundreds of men sat at the tables, feverishly shuffling cards and smacking the chips down on the table. I guessed this was some sort of gambling house—it wasn't at all what I'd pictured the Pandemonium Club to be like. At least everybody here looked relatively _human_, although I knew there had to be to Downworlders in the crowd.

"See that man in the corner?" Jem whispered to me. "The one in the dark suit?" My eyes fell on a distinguished-looking man who appeared to be arguing with the person seated opposite him. "That's the Prime Minister."

My eyes widened, although I had no idea what his name even was. "The _Prime Minister? _But—why is he here?"

"Many important members of mundane society are part of the club," Jem explained. "They are being manipulated by Downworlders into losing all their money gambling and are then forced into debt, essentially becoming puppets."

"That sounds horrible," I said, staring over at the Prime Minister. He appeared to be vehemently yelling at his opponent, who was sitting calmly with his arms crossed. I wondered how big the scandal would be if the general public was to find out their leader involved himself with magic and demons after dark.

Ahead of us, Will had already pulled out the dagger and was weaving through the crowd, presumably acting as a foolish mundane curious to know where the _ouroboros _had originated from. The tang of cigar smoke was heavy in the air, and I was certain I could see opium scattered on the tables, the white powder identical to Jem's _yin fen._

We crept toward Will, who had stopped in the middle of the room, surveying the scene. Nobody seemed to be paying him any particular attention, and I was about to ask what to do next when I saw him shudder slightly, and a dark cloud passed over his features. "Behold," Will muttered under his breath, "A Lightwood in its natural habitat." Jem and I followed his gaze to where I recognized Benedict Lightwood standing over one of the tables next to a beautiful mundane woman. Her hair was as black as the night sky outside and I could see that her skin was completely fresh and unmarred. She gazed up at Benedict adoringly as he spoke in a low voice to her.

Will let out a sound of disgust and turned away; I saw the flash of the dagger in his hand. Jem said something to him in a low voice and they moved toward one of the tables, presumably to speak to one of the mundanes sitting there. I started to follow them, but there came an angry shout from the Prime Minister's table and everyone craned their necks to see what was going on. The men sitting near me stood up to get a better view, shielding Will and Jem from sight. I peered around their backs to see where the two boys had gone, but I could barely see with the smoke clouding the air and the bodies had all merged into one indistinguishable mass. I sighed; so much for being useful.

Well, it was probably best to stay in the same place until they found me again. Wasn't that the general rule if you ever got lost in a crowd? Then again, it hadn't been _me _who had gotten lost…

"Hello," said a voice from behind me. I turned around to see a good-looking man with blond hair and blue eyes. He had an American accent, the first one I'd heard since this awful mess had unfolded, and I felt strangely comforted. "Are you lost? Women don't usually attend these meetings."

It hardly looked like any sort of _meeting _to me, but I didn't remark on this fact; instead, I blurted out the first lie I could think of: "My husband is a member of the club, actually. He brought me along today, but…" I trailed off, wondering how a Victorian woman would react to the atmosphere. "It's a bit too much for my nerves, I think. All these fumes are getting to me!" I tried to laugh, waving my hand in front of my nose as if attempting to ward off the smell.

The blond man looked sympathetic. "Completely understandable," he murmured. "What is your husband's name? Allow me to deliver you back to him."

His words made me sound as if I was nothing more than a parcel. Then again, in these times, women were viewed as objects in the mundane world. I had to remind myself that he was just a mundane—at least, I didn't see the black swirls of runes on his arms at all. "His name is…um…er…" My mind went blank for a second, and, again, I said the first thing that came to mind: "Marcus Heron—Smith." God, Will was going to kill me.

"Marcus Heronsmith?" the man asked, frowning slightly. "I don't believe I've ever heard that name before…is he a regular member of the club?"

"Yes," I lied. "He was just over there…" I cast a glance over the room, pretending to look for him but instead searching for Jem or Will. I couldn't recognize anyone in the crowd, and even Jem's silver hair wasn't visible. "I'm not sure where he went," I said dejectedly.

"Perhaps he went into one of the backrooms. Shall we go search for him?" the blond man asked. I gulped, searching for any escape route—but I was stuck and couldn't refuse without arousing suspicion. My heart was pounding against my ribcage so loudly I was sure the man could hear it. He grabbed me by the wrist, nearly pulling off my glove, and unceremoniously dragged me past the tables and behind a partition I hadn't noticed before. It was much darker and quieter here; I could see more clearly and the air was noticeably cleaner.

I tried to step away from the man, but my wrist was still being held in a death grip. "Sir, please—" I began, trying to step away from him. His hand traveled farther up my arm and began to push my sleeve back. I began to panic: he would surely discover the faint imprints of runes, and I was certain that, if he was so deeply embroiled in Downworlder affairs, a Shadowhunter would not be welcome—

Just as I was about to yank my wrist back, the man dropped it of his own accord and took a step away from me. His eyes now looked embarrassed and downcast. "Forgive me, ma'm," he said in a quiet voice. "I did not mean to be so forward. I just thought I saw a strange marking on your arm."

"No," I squeaked in terror; so he _had _seen my runes. But why did he let go of my hand so suddenly?

The blond man was still apologizing as he began to walk farther down the hallway, obviously waiting for me to follow him. I stayed rooted in the spot, my eyes having caught the outline of a spider crawling across the wood. It was exactly the same size and shape as the spider that had been at the motel. How strange. I blinked twice and tried to look away from it, but my palms were already beginning to sweat in fear.

"Do you not want to look for your husband?" my unwanted companion was asking, looking confused. He glanced uncaringly over to the spider and brushed it to the ground with a wave of his hand. "If you feel unsafe being accompanied by a strange man, let me introduce myself. My name is Nat—"

"I'm sorry, I have to leave," I whispered; the spider was now crawling towards me, and there was only one escape. I turned on my heel and bolted back to the main room, but there was a group of burly men blocking my path. I whirled back around and searched the ground, cursing under my breath as I saw that the spider was _still _following me. Why was I so scared of this damned spider? I could crush it with my boot if I chose.

But overwhelming fear was more powerful than my still-new fighting instincts, and I slipped into the nearest room, whose door was slightly ajar. The blond man had mentioned "backrooms", but I hadn't put any thought into what might actually _constitute _a backroom.

Three dirty, scruffy-looking men were standing inside, two of them bent over the unconscious form of a woman—the first woman that I had seen in the club. Her chest was rising and falling slowly, and there appeared to be a long cut on her right shoulder. The third man was glaring daggers at me, and some hitherto unknown part of my brain realized what they were: _werewolves._ I opened my mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

"What are you _doing_, you stupid girl?" an enraged voice hissed from behind me. I was yanked backwards none too gently and whirled around to see Will glaring down at me: his eyes were sparking with rage and his teeth were bared. I had never seen anybody so angry before, especially at me, and I shrunk backwards.

"Will—stop—you're hurting me!" I cried, but he didn't loosen his grip.

"If one of the werewolves had discovered what you were, you would be _torn to pieces _and we would be exposed,_" _he growled, shaking me as if I were a rag doll with every word. It was terrifying: I was beginning to lose feeling in my right arm and my entire body was frozen. Would he slap me?

Gulping, I whispered, "I didn't _mean _to! I'm scared of spiders and I had to get away—"

"You're scared of spiders," he repeated, his voice dripping with disgust. "You are training to fight demons and you cannot handle a damned _spider? _This is not some game that you can escape whenever you wish. If you're not careful you are going to get us all killed."

"I…" But I trailed off, unable to think of anything to say. I knew I couldn't protest that he had been the one who had dragged me here in the first place; my words would surely fall on deaf ears. Now there was no trace of the Will who had almost been _joking _with me in my room or who had been in the training room that first day. He was glaring down at me with absolute and utter hatred, and I felt my throat begin to choke up.

"What's going on?" asked a mild voice, and Jem appeared in the now-empty hallway. The chattering group blocking the exit had disappeared, and there were no signs of the blond man.

"Abigail is just proving how much of an idiot she really is," Will said through clenched teeth. He let go of my arm and stalked away.

Jem, at least, looked sympathetic; he reached out his hand to me and I took it, allowing him to lead me back through the main part of the club and then outside. I paused on the street, taking great gasps of air, dirty though it still was. I could feel the beginnings of tears on my face. "I'm sorry," I said; Will had by now entirely vanished. "I just…I couldn't help it."

"It's not your fault, Abby," he soothed. We began to walk down the street, the few mundanes who were still out gazing right through us, a peculiarity I would have found disconcerting had I not been so upset. "You did nothing wrong. If anything, it's Will's fault for forcing you to come along."

I knew that he was right, but I still had to force myself not to cry. Had I really been thinking I'd improved earlier that morning? Will was right: if I couldn't even face a spider, there was absolutely no way I would be able to face an actual demon.

Jem continued to reassure me all the way back to the carriage, but now I was hardly listening to him. My heart was racing in anticipation of another tirade from Will—but when we climbed inside, the dark-haired boy was pressed up against the very edge of the seat, staring out the window. From what I could see of his face, his expression was still murderous. Jem pointedly sat down between us and I dimly heard Thomas urge the horses on as the carriage began its journey back to the Institute. I didn't even know whether they had gotten the information they needed or not.

Similar to our trip an hour beforehand, none of us spoke, although the atmosphere had changed from cringingly awkward to dark and heavy. Will was still glaring out the window—I was surprised the glass didn't break from the force of his expression—and Jem was fiddling with his cane. I kept my head down, staring at my gloved hands.

The lights in the Institute were all ablaze when the carriage rattled past the front gates, and Will suddenly turned alert. He threw open the door and leapt out of the carriage before it even came to a full stop, pulling his seraph blade out as if expecting a fight. But when Jem and I reached the front doors thirty seconds later, there was no trace of demons or Downworlders—only an irate-looking Charlotte, which was just as terrifying.

"William Herondale," she was saying, her normally caring expression severe. "I cannot believe you brought Abby along with you to the Pandemonium Club—she is untrained and unfit for such a task. What if she had been in danger? Jem, I am no less disappointed in you—I thought you would have been able to talk sense into him."

I couldn't stand her lecturing Jem, who had been nothing but sweet when he ought to blame me too. "Charlotte, it's partly my fault as well," I said, stepping forward. "I shouldn't have gone along with Will's plan."

"Something tells me you had little to no choice in the matter," she said, her voice still hard. She didn't look at me. "Sophie alerted me when she couldn't find Abby before bed. Will, _why _would you do such a thing?"

"I thought she would be able to blend in with the mundanes," Will said in a hard voice. He paused before adding, "Besides, no one would miss her if she got in trouble, anyway."

This appeared to be the final straw for Charlotte. "Go into the study—I will speak with you shortly." He went, his boots clomping against the floor, and Charlotte finally turned to Jem and I. "Abby, you may retire to bed—Sophie is waiting for you. Jem, follow me and we will administer some more of the drug; you are not looking very well." For the first time, I noticed she was right: in the bright light that was no longer obscured by heavy smoke, I noticed that his pupils were wide and his hands were trembling slightly.

I began to head toward the stairs, barely managing to smile back at Jem's "Good night". Behind me, Charlotte was asking about the dagger's origins, and I dimly heard Jem say something about the 'Dark Sisters', although I had no idea what he meant by that. As I passed the study, I saw that Will was leaning over the desk, his hands spread wide on the table as if he was bracing himself from something. I slowed my pace, wondering if I should say something to try to alleviate the tension—but then he looked up at me, his bright blue eyes narrowed, and I quickly hurried away.

* * *

**Hopefully this chapter leads itself smoothly into the beginning events of _Clockwork Angel. _**

**A note about the romance: Jem and Abby's relationship will be slow to start, owing to their personalities and unique circumstances, but once it _does_ happen, it will move very quickly! ;) (And no, there won't be any romantic attraction between Abby and Will for reasons that I'll reveal later.)**


	8. Eight

**From now on, there will be quotes and conversations taken directly out of CA, CP and CP2, respectively. However, some of them deviate slightly from canon and they do not take place exactly as they did in the books, as you'll find out in this chapter.**

* * *

**I **wasn't sure what time it was when I woke up the next morning, other than the fact that the sun streaming through the window was very bright indeed. It took me all of three seconds to realize that the light burning my eyes was _sunlight_, actual _sunlight_. I couldn't remember the last time I had felt anything more than the sun's weak glare through the clouds, and eagerly threw the blankets away from me, rushing over to the window and throwing it open. The street outside, which had always seemed gloomy and forbidding to me in the constant cloud cover, now seemed merry and cheerful. I had almost forgotten what precise shade of blue the sky was, and found myself grinning as I stared up at it, just basking in its warmth. Living in California all my life, I had always taken the sun for granted until now.

Sophie knocked on the door then, and I rushed to open it, smiling widely at her. "Good morning, miss," she said. "Did you sleep well?"

"Much better than I expected," I told her. It was the truth: I'd been expecting that my dreams would be plagued with the blond man in the Pandemonium Club and Will's anger, but surprisingly I had had a dreamless sleep.

She smiled genuinely at me, and I wondered how she would even see reason to be jealous of Jem and I when she was so beautiful. He would never look twice at me when _she _was in the room. Even with the scar, she was far lovelier than I could ever hope to be. "I am sorry for telling Charlotte last night," she began after I had sat down and she began drawing a brush through my hair. "But you were not anywhere to be found and I was worried that you were lost."

"You were worried?" I asked with a slight tone of surprise.

"Yes, of course," Sophie assured me, pausing for a moment. Her eyes met mine in the mirror, both of us frowning. "Why wouldn't I be?"

_Because Jessamine told me that you were jealous that Jem and I were spending so much time together_, I thought, but quickly shook my head. "Never mind."

* * *

It was well after noon by the time I found myself in the kitchen, begging Agatha for some food. At first she simply wagged a finger at me, telling me that it would teach me a lesson so I wouldn't sleep in for so long, but after a while I finally wore her down and she gave me a platter of sausages before banishing me from the room (I suspected that it had been more to do with the fact I was annoying her while she was trying to prepare dinner rather than my brilliant persuasive skills).

No one was present in the dining-hall, and I was just enjoying some peace and quiet when the doors opened and Charlotte bustled in. "Oh, there you are, Abby," she said, visibly relieved. "I was worried you had gone off with Will again…"

"I don't think that's going to happen for a while," I told her. "Where is he, anyway?"

"He went with Thomas and Henry to investigate the Dark Sisters' house," Charlotte explained. "Judging by what the boys found out last night, they are deeply involved with the Pandemonium Club. The Dark Sisters are a pair of warlocks who live in a house in the East End—or at least that's what Jem told me." She sighed, sitting down at the table across from me. "Abby," she began, "Did you and Will argue last night?"

I hesitated, wondering if I should tell her truth, before convincing myself that it was _Charlotte, _after all. She wouldn't let anyone know how upset I was about it. I slowly nodded before launching into an explanation of the spider I had seen, nearly running straight into a room full of werewolves, and Will's antagonism toward me.

Charlotte listened patiently, folding her hands in front of her and tilting her head slightly to the side. When I was finished, she nodded in agreement, looking grim. "Will is…he's difficult," she relented. "I don't want you to take anything he says personally, Abby, or feel that he's biased against you in any way. He acts like this to everyone, and sometimes I wonder if he doesn't want to hurt people in the worst possible way. He can be a real nightmare, but there's more to him than meets the eye."

I remembered what Jem had said about Will telling Charlotte that he didn't want to see his parents. "Yeah," I said quietly. "I think I understand what you mean. Don't worry—I'll stay away from him."

"Oh, no, I didn't mean for you to stay away from him," answered Charlotte. "I don't want you to feel threatened by him—that's the _last _thing he needs. I'm just advising you to tread cautiously. Feel free to speak to him however you like; I gave Sophie free reign to say what she pleases."

A small grin tugged at the corners of my mouth. "I think I'd rather stay as far away as possible from him, actually."

"That might be more difficult to do than you think," Charlotte replied.

Thinking of his sudden appearance in my room the night before, I muttered, "Unfortunately, I know exactly what you mean," and we laughed together, the tension broken. Charlotte looked relieved as she stood up, and I wondered if she had thought I had been bothered by the argument with Will. Of course I was hurt by it, but she seemed to be operating under the assumption that I actually _liked _Will and wanted to be friends with him. As it was, however, I had always strongly disliked him, and found that his ignoring me could work to my advantage.

I was so busy contemplating this new train of thought that I had almost forgotten a question I'd been wanting to ask. "Hey, Charlotte?" I called, momentarily forgetting about using "proper" Victorian speech. She turned around expectantly, still smiling warmly at me, and I asked, "Is Jem in the training room? You didn't say that he'd gone with Will and Henry."

A cloud seemed to cross her features at my words, and she replied, "Jem isn't feeling very well today—I think the ordeal last night exhausted him."

"Oh," I said softly, disappointed; he had never taken a day off before, and I assumed that it was even rarer he wouldn't accompany Will on an investigation. Charlotte, sensing my unhappiness, added, "I'm sure he'll be fine by tomorrow—he's just rather tired."

I nodded but finished my breakfast in glum silence, remembering the dark shadows under his eyes and slow movements the night before. What was I supposed to do, then? It was no fun walking around London without someone to talk to, and although I had used to love taking solitary walks around San Francisco, the novelty was lost in this time. I had read the _Codex _back to front and it felt like I had memorized all the illustrations as well, so I guessed I could return it to the library and find another book…God, what I had done for fun back home? Watching TV, I guessed, or going shopping, or spending time with what few friends I had…I felt a stab of guilt for not missing them nearly as much as I probably should have. I had always been a bit of a loner at school, never forming close attachments with anyone. My mother had been my best friend, as lame as that sounded. I could count on one hand the number of times I'd been invited to a sleepover, and all of them had culminated in the others gossiping about boys or painting each other's nails or playing Truth and Dare—nothing that I was particularly interested in.

When I left the dining-hall on the way back to my room, I nearly collided with Agatha, who was carrying a tray laden with food out of the kitchen. "Sorry!" I apologized, grabbing the glass of water before it could spill onto the floor. "I should have been watching where I was going."

"Ay, don't worry about it, lass," she replied in her thick Scottish accent. "Mr Herondale did mention that you were very clumsy." I blushed furiously, wondering what _else_ he had said about me. "Would you be passing by Mr Carstairs's room by any chance?"

"Yes, it's right across the hall from mine," I said, wondering idly if I should have said 'corridor' instead.

"Then do you mind giving him his breakfast?" Agatha asked, pushing the tray into my hands. "Sophie usually tends to him when he is ill, but I cannot find her anywhere."

Part of me felt bad for taking Sophie's job, especially when I knew of her fondness for Jem, but the other part couldn't help but feel selfishly, stupidly glad that I was able to see him. I immediately chastised myself for being so excited—I had no reason to, after all. I was just bringing him breakfast.

Hoping that Sophie wouldn't spot me, I thanked Agatha—possibly more fervently than I should have—and hurried upstairs, trying not to drop the tray. I didn't want to give Will _another _reason to mock me, especially since he had supposedly already complained about my clumsiness.

When I reached Jem's door, I took a deep breath to calm myself before gently knocking on it. _What's gotten into you, Abby? _I thought crossly. _It's just Jem! There's no need to be nervous!_

"Come in," his quiet voice called. I hesitantly pushed open the door and stepped into his dark, shadowy room—the curtains were still closed, betraying nothing of the beautiful day outside. Jem was still in bed, his silver hair visible in the dark, but it looked disarrayed and plastered to his forehead, as if he had been tossing and turning all night.

I could see the dim outline of a witchlight stone on his bedside table, and as I started toward it, Jem coughed and asked, "Sophie?"

I froze; what if he had actually wanted Sophie and would be disappointed to see me? "No—it's just me," I replied. "I'm just bringing you some food. Agatha said she was looking for Sophie and she couldn't find her so she asked me instead. I can get her though, if you want—"

"Abby, it's perfectly all right," Jem said, but there was a strange tone to his voice that sounded almost like embarrassment. He sat up in bed just as I placed the tray on the table and picked up the witchlight. It flared up instantly, illuminating the room with an eerie blue light. "I was just expecting Sophie; she is usually the only one who visits me when I am…like this."

I grabbed the chair from the table and pulled it up next to his bed, closing my fingers over the witchlight so that my hand glowed blue. "I would expect that you don't want visitors, then, especially if you're trying to sleep."

Jem looked surprised; I noticed that there was a slight flush to his cheeks that hadn't been there when I'd entered the room. "No, of course not! It's quite the opposite, in fact. Most times I am…quite bored, to tell the truth. I could certainly use the company." He smiled at me, and, grinning back, I felt my heart stutter.

It was that precise moment when I first realized I was developing feelings for Jem Carstairs. The thought had briefly crossed my mind in the carriage, when he'd tied up my dress, but I had dismissed the possibility—or rather, denied it. We'd only known each other for two weeks, after all.

And yet…I recognized the telltale signs: my sudden shyness around him, the way my heart pounded faster when I was near him, my desire to touch his hand in the carriage..._it's just a crush, Abby, _I tried to tell myself. _There is no way this could work out for so many reasons. His illness, for starters. And you being from the future is a major stumbling block as well. Not to mention the fact that you're more likely to invent the Portal yourself than Jem liking you back._

But that didn't stop my hands from breaking out in a cold sweat as I stared numbly down at him. It had been coming on like an illness, I realized, for days. I just hadn't been paying attention…the incident in the carriage was the catalyst, and today I was being forced to confront it head-on. I hadn't had a crush in years, and I suddenly felt fourteen again, afraid to speak to the boy she liked.

I could stop it, though. If I told myself over and over again that it was impossible, that there was no point in even trying, I would certainly be able to stop the feelings. Better that I discovered it this early on before it was too late, like the heroines in tragic romances always did—poor souls. I would be saving myself a world of pain.

And, of course, if it _had _to happen, it was better Jem than Will,I thought cynically. Now _that _would be devastating. I might as well have thrown myself in the path of a moving train and it would have been less painful.

Meanwhile, I hadn't realized that my smile had faltered, and Jem was now looking concerned. "Abby?" he asked curiously. "Is something wrong?"

"No!" I almost shouted, quickly snapping back to attention. "It's great." _He's just a friend, _I kept repeating to myself like a mantra. _Just a friend, just a friend, just a friend._ As it often happened, however, the words gradually began to lose their meaning after I'd thought them too many times, and I sighed, forcing a smile. "I was just thinking about…training."

It occurred to me, too late, that Jem would blame himself for my melancholy mood. "I almost forgot about that," he groaned quietly, pressing the palms of his hand to his eyes. "I am very sorry, Abby. If there is anything I can do to make it up to you—"

Okay, so this conversation was _not _going well. My thoughts were scattered in a million different directions as if someone had thrown them to the wind and let them fly where they pleased. "Don't apologize for being under the weather. I'll survive without it for a day."

"Under the weather?" he asked, amused at yet another one of my odd sayings. At least he looked like he had cheered up a bit; he settled up so that he could look me directly in the eyes, which somehow made my heart flop over in my chest. "Sometimes it slips my mind that you are from the future until you say or do something very peculiar…"

I wrinkled my nose. "Peculiar?"

Jem suddenly looked startled. "No—I didn't mean it like that," he hastily apologized. "I meant…endearing. It's quite entertaining." I laughed, and he slumped back onto the pillow, looking everywhere but at me.

Why did he seem to be just as flustered as me today? "Something else is on your mind," I prodded gently, and finally his gaze snapped up to meet mine, his silvery eyes now looking a bit sheepish. "What is it?"

"It's…it's just…I'm…" I raised my eyebrows in expectation, and he let out a sigh, absent-mindedly fiddling with the blankets as if he was imagining holding his cane or violin. "I'm worried about Will," he confessed.

Ah. That explained it. "You know, Jem, I'm hardly an expert on him, but I don't think you need to be worried about him in the least."

"No, something has changed," Jem mused, his eyes taking on a faraway quality. "He is acting different."

"Because of me?"

Jem shook his head and I tried to disguise my relief. "It began even before you arrived here, when we first found that mundane girl. It is giving him a…a _purpose_, almost. He is thrilled that he has investigate and put himself in the line of danger. Will has always been happiest when his life is on the line. Sometimes I wonder if…" he trailed off, and I finished the sentence for him: "If he _wants _to die."

"Yes," Jem breathed, and closed his eyes. "And dying is not a pleasant ordeal."

The air was thick with tension, and I could sense Jem's vulnerability in speaking to me about this. He knew, certainly, that he would die some day in the not-too-distant future—my stomach gave a tiny, painful jolt when I thought this—and that although he had known all along that Will would be the one forced to watch, he was now suddenly faced with the prospect of Will dying—or _wanting _to die, which I supposed was equally horrible. I didn't like Will in the least, but I certainly didn't want him to die. "He wouldn't try it," I tried to reassure him, even though I had absolutely no idea about what he would or wouldn't try. "He's not going to leave you."

"Maybe not now," said Jem, who still hadn't opened his eyes, "But someday, after I—"

"You can't think like that, Jem," I said furiously. "There is always hope."

"Not for me," he said, and I was reminded of the time he had told me he would never marry. "Abby, I have accepted my death a long time ago. I am worried, however, about what I will leave behind." Jem finally opened his eyes and I quickly looked away, sitting back in the chair and wondering if he felt as uncomfortable as I did.

"You still have time," I told him firmly. "Jem, I can't help you. I—" A choked sob slipped out as I thought about my current situation—the terrible reality of it always enveloped me at the worst times. "I can't help you when I can't even help myself."

"What do you mean?" Jem asked, all talk of Will suddenly banished. Now he was leaning forward, concern written all over his face.

I blinked, fully intending to turn the conversation back to the original topic—he must think me selfish, changing the subject to myself!—but the words escaped my mouth before I could stop them. "I don't know why I'm going along with all this—this Shadowhunter business. Okay, I get the 'when in Rome' aspect of the whole thing, but I feel like it's being taken a bit too far. I feel like…like when I get back home," I forced myself to say 'when', not 'if'—"I won't be able to suddenly give it up. But I promised my mother that I would never become a Shadowhunter, or tell anyone that my father had been one. I just want a normal mundane life, don't you see?" I shifted in my chair, agitated. "I want to grow up normally, with no fear of demons or vampires or werewolves, and I want a nine to five job and to marry a nice, _normal _man and then one day have two point five kids and take them on vacation to Disney World every year, and then die when I'm eighty and feel as if I've lived a mundane yet normal life."

There was a ringing silence. I realized, belatedly, that Jem would not have understood a word I was saying. "I guess what I mean is…I don't want this life," I added, unable to meet his gaze.

"Abby," he began after a long moment, "I know how you feel. You felt as if you had some semblance of happiness, of normality, before something happened to toss it all away, and now you feel as if you're floating, completely directionless. But...you can be happier if you choose to realize that, for whatever reason, your life is _not _going to go in the way you envisioned it, and maybe…just maybe…something wonderful can come out of it."

_I see that you were content living a mundane life, but it appears it is not in your destiny, _Brother Enoch had said. I thought of the boy lying in front of me, the boy who had lost so much and who was still losing, even now. If _anyone _had the right to be angry, to throw back the cards that life had dealt him, it was Jem. But instead of being enveloped by hatred and resentment, like Will, he had chosen to see life in a different way, to be as happy as he could while he had the chance. I let out a long breath, ruffling my hair, and forced myself to nod. "I suppose you're right," I said in a hoarse whisper. "I'm just making myself feel even worse."

Jem reached out and put his hand over mine, the one that was still clutching the witchlight, so that the blue glow was almost dimmed completely. My heart skipped a beat and then began to pound in earnest as I felt the warmth of his hand over mine, and a cold sweat broke out across my skin. I had been abruptly jerked from my melancholy mood to the present, where the only thing I could think of was Jem.

Sometimes having a crush wasn't so bad.

Then again, it was just a reassuring touch, similar to how Charlotte would put her hand on my shoulder or my mother would kiss my forehead when I was little. There was nothing romantic about it all.

"Abby, I just want you to know that if you ever want to talk about it with—" he began, but before he could finish the door burst open and Will strode in, holding a witchlight of his own. My head spun around, my mouth slightly agape, as I took in his appearance: his clothes was ripped and torn and a cut on his shoulder looked like it was bleeding quite badly. He was still holding his seraph blade and he had bruises all over his face and arms, but there was an almost feverish spark in his eyes I had never seen before.

"Will!" Jem said, alarmed. He pulled his hand away from mine, and the spell was broken. "What on earth happened today? You look awful."

"The investigation turned out to be much more interesting than I expected," Will said triumphantly. "By the Angel, it's rather dark in here, isn't it?" He strode to the window and threw open the curtains, causing both Jem and I to shield our eyes as the sun nearly blinded both of us. Turning back to us, he announced, slightly mockingly, "I always seem to catch you two in the strangest of situations."

I didn't dare to respond, remembering his furious rage the previous night, but there was no hatred in his eyes when he looked at me; whatever had happened at the Dark Sisters' appeared to have overshadowed everything else. Still, I wasn't going to press my luck, and I didn't particularly care for whatever he was going to say next—he'd probably just killed a demon or two and was going to recount it in detail. I stood up and headed toward the door, flashing a parting smile at Jem. Will raised his hand toward me in what I imagined was a sarcastic sort of wave before taking the chair I had just vacated, beginning to explain something in earnest to Jem, gesticulating wildly. I slipped out of the bedroom and closed the door behind me, pausing only to frown at the closed door next to my own room: it had always been vacant, and now I could hear faint voices whispering inside of it. Perhaps Thomas had finally cornered Sophie.

Ah…_Sophie._ I felt a pang of guilt as I remembered the longing in her eyes whenever she looked at Jem. No wonder I had been secretly pleased that he didn't return her feelings. Of course I didn't blame her for fancying Jem…any girl in her right mind would fancy him. Well, except maybe Jessamine…but then again, she certainly _wasn't _in her right mind, so she didn't count. Still…Sophie had a much better chance with Jem than I did—they'd known each other for longer _and _she was gorgeous—not to mention the fact that they were from the same time period. The fact that I was over a hundred years younger than Jem, despite the fact that we were technically close in age here, would eventually put him off somewhat. At least, if he ever considered me in that way. Which he never would.

_Stop overthinking things, Abby, _I told myself, flopping down onto my bed. In fact, I should stop thinking about Jem at all. It was time to put an end to this little crush and stop it before it even started. Yes, that would be for the best. From now on, I would consider Jem as a friend, nothing more.

_Why are you still thinking about him?!_

I grabbed my pillow, pulled it over my face, and let out a muffled scream.

* * *

Sophie didn't fetch me for dinner that night—in fact, it was nearly seven and she still hadn't showed up. The sun was just beginning to set over London, bathing the street in beautiful pink and golden and orange hues. I was standing next to the window, enjoying the last glimpse of sun before what would yet be another dull and dreary day, wondering what was taking her so long. Perhaps it had something to do with her disappearance at lunch. My stomach growled in spite of myself, and I sighed, loosening my corset. "Bloody nuisance," I muttered in my best impression of an English accent.

It took me five minutes before I came to the conclusion that I was being absolutely ridiculous: here I was, waiting for my _ladies' maid _to call me for dinner! If that wasn't the height of silliness, what was? Sometimes I wondered if I would be sent straight into an asylum when I got back to the future. Maybe it would turn out that I had taken a spectacularly potent drug and I was actually in the hospital right now, having hallucinated the past two weeks. That would certainly explain a lot.

By now I was too hungry to change into my more comfortable training gear and so decided to go down to supper on my own. Jem's door was still closed, and, to my surprise, so was the door of the room next to mine. I paused in front of it, wondering if I would be able to hear the voices again, but it was silent. Shrugging to myself, I distracted myself with the possibility of dinner and hurried down the staircase, nearly bumping into Sophie on my way down. "Miss Cartwright, I apologize for not fetching you beforehand," Sophie apologized when I had righted myself, "But Mrs Branwell has asked for my assistance in helping Miss Gray prepare for supper."

"Miss Gray?" I asked confusedly. As large as the Institute was, I'd always believed I had met everyone currently residing there, but I supposed there was always a chance there had been someone locked up all along…

Interrupting my suddenly overactive imagination, Sophie frowned at me. "You mean Mr Herondale has not told you?" she asked. "Mrs Branwell instructed him to, but I suppose if he hasn't…during the investigation of the Dark House, he found a prisoner the Dark Sisters were keeping locked up in one of the rooms. Her name is Theresa Gray, and she is American like yourself. Brother Enoch believes she is a warlock, although she has no markings."

I couldn't hide my interest at the prospect of a new _female_ friend. "Why were they keeping her locked up?"

Sophie shook her head. "No one knows as of yet. She is a shapeshifter, but had no idea of her true identity until very recently. She says her family were mundanes, at least to her knowledge."

"A shapeshifter," I breathed. It sounded exciting, but I couldn't deny the fact that I was relieved I wasn't the only unusual one at the Institute. "So she's coming down to dinner, then?"

"Yes. I am to bring her this dress," Sophie indicated the bundle of red velvet material in her arms, no doubt borrowed from Jessamine, "And bring her downstairs. Can you inform the others that we should be arriving very shortly?"

I nodded and nearly ran down to the dining-hall, happy that I wasn't the only oddity at the Institute anymore. Will and Jessamine were sitting at the table, and I felt a sharp jolt of disappointment that Jem wasn't there, although I hadn't expected him to be. Blowing my hair out of my face, I took my usual seat and grabbed a roll, too hungry to wait for the others.

"So, future girl," Will said easily, as if the night at the Pandemonium Club hadn't occurred, "Has Sophie told you about the new arrival yet?"

I lowered my roll and raised one eyebrow at him. "She said that _you _were supposed to tell me, but yes, she did."

"I would have if you hadn't bolted out of Jem's room like a scared cat," Will replied, looking amused. "Did she inform you that Miss Gray is from New York, but came to England to live with her brother Nathaniel and claims that she was being chased by the Magister?"

_Nathaniel…_the name sounded familiar to me, although I couldn't quite place where. If Theresa was American, then her brother was surely American as well…and if they had ties to the Pandemonium Club…the blond man I had spoken to the previous night had been American, and he had said his name was Nat-something…could that perhaps be Nathaniel? "I know this might be a bit of a stretch," I began slowly, noting a spark of interest in Will's eyes, "But—"

The dining-hall doors swung open, preventing me from finishing my sentence, and Will's head instantly snapped around to see the new arrival, a girl whom I didn't recognize. Jessamine and I turned as well, she looking a great deal less interested than I was.

But my heart sank when I saw Theresa and her tall, skinny build; she looked almost regal. She was pretty, but not stunningly beautiful in the way Jessamine was-her nose was slightly pointed and her hair was a dull brown, but she was still much better-looking than I was.

Mom had always told me that I looked exactly like my father, but having his features didn't translate over well to a girl. He had been very handsome, but it didn't suit me: my forehead was too wide, my jaw too square, to have the delicate quality that both Theresa and Jessamine possessed. My eyes were too round, my eyebrows too bushy-it would have been a complete and total disaster if I'd had glasses—and I couldn't blame Will for not finding any redeeming qualities in my appearance, since there were none. The boys had been right when they had called me ugly at school. While both Jessamine and Theresa were small-boned and statuesque, I was shorter and stockier. I'd never been _overweight_, per se, but, again, having a layer of muscle with facial features that were better suited on a man didn't contribute to an overall attractive look.

While I despaired over my appearance, Charlotte appeared in the doorway behind Theresa. "Will, you remember Miss Gray?" she asked.

"My recollection of her is most vivid indeed," Will replied, and grinned at the new girl, who looked alarmed and was quick to glance away. I scowled; why was it he was able to grin so amiably at her while I could barely get an insolent smirk out of him?

Meanwhile, Charlotte was introducing Jessamine, who made a vague greeting while studiously ignoring Theresa. At least I knew her resentment of me was nothing personal. "And Miss Gray, this is Miss Abigail Cartwright," she said, turning to me. I met the new girl's gaze and did my best to make my smile as warm as possible, remembering how I'd felt when I had first arrived at the Institute. "She is American as well."

Theresa looked interested and, after a quick glance at Charlotte, sat down next to me. Her gaze was curiously intense, but I forced myself to hold it. "Which part of America are you from?" she asked quietly; her accent was a welcome relief from the constant barrage of British accents I had to decipher every day.

"San Francisco," I replied. "Will told me you are from New York?"

Her eyes widened slightly but she nodded; I saw her gaze slide over to Will, who was asking Charlotte about Henry. When she turned back to me, I said, "Call me Abby—everyone does. I'm only called Abigail when I'm in trouble."

Theresa paused, considering her next words, before saying, "Then you may call me Tessa—I already told Charlotte to refer to me as such."

"Tessa," I repeated. "That's, er, that's a nice name," and we shared another hesitant smile. I sensed that she was just as shy as I was, and hoped that she wouldn't interpret my silence as rude, like most people did.

It was then that I heard Will saying something about Jem, and I immediately jerked to attention, hoping I didn't look _too _focused. But the topic had already been changed, and I was forced to stare back down at my dinner, wondering if he was feeling better.

* * *

The remainder of the meal was spent asking Tessa dozens of questions, from how exactly the Dark Sisters had kept her imprisoned (they certainly did not sound very friendly) to how her shapeshifting abilities could be controlled. I was silent for most of it, not wanting to annoy her any more than she already was—I could sense her constant refrain of "I don't know" was fast getting tiresome. It seemed as if she knew little more than we did, except for the fact that the Magister—whoever he was—wished to marry her for some reason. Will and Charlotte both seemed convinced that it had something to do with the Pandemonium Club and there was a bigger plot at work. Personally, I was still too busy trying to think of everything but Jem to concentrate on any one thing they were saying, although I did notice Tessa kept glancing over at Will, as if he was a fallen angel that had suddenly dropped into the middle of the room. I couldn't blame her, but the little detail wherein he loathed me had put me off him for good.

Once, though, Charlotte told Jessamine off for 'playing with' her food, and the other girl sniffed haughtily, glaring down at her plate. I met Will's eyes across the table and we shared a mutual smirk, me internally reeling at this new development. Since when did Will Herondale smirk _with_ me? Shouldn't he be smirking _at _me?

This gesture was not missed by Tessa, whose wide grey eyes flickered back and forth between the two of us. But before I could assure her that Will was entirely hers, Henry suddenly appeared in the dining-hall with his sleeve on fire and everyone's attention was diverted.

The most exciting development of the evening occurred when Tessa shapeshifted—or, as she called it, Changed—into Jessamine, startling everyone in the room. The poor girl had to endure yet another barrage of questions afterward, and to be honest, I was growing quite bored by the conversation that only seemed to turn back to the question _Why? _None of us knew who the Magister was, or how the Dark Sisters knew about Tessa's ability, or where her brother was. I opened my mouth more than once to ask Tessa if her brother was blond, but Will or Jessamine would always interrupt me.

When the meal was finally dismissed, I bolted out of my seat and hurried upstairs, realizing too late that I should probably have offered to show Tessa up to her room, as it was right beside mine. But I couldn't go back downstairs now, and anyhow I was too eager to see Jem again. I knocked on his door, excited to tell him about the new developments, and when there was no answer I quietly opened the door and peered inside.

His curtains were open, moonlight shining into the room as it had been the first time he'd played the violin for me; but now he was fast asleep, stretched out across the bed. Smiling to myself, I crept over to him and gently pulled the blanket over him. He moved slightly in his sleep, and yet again I noticed that strange flash of green I often saw on his throat. But now I realized that it was a jade pendant, inscribed with delicate Chinese characters. His hand almost seemed to twitch toward it in his sleep, and I wondered what they meant. It must have been a relic from his life in Shanghai; I wondered if it had belonged to his father or his mother.

By the Angel, I wasn't supposed to be thinking like this! Why I had just _tucked him in _to bed? I shouldn't even have come into his room at all. Without a backward glance at him, I stalked away from him and shut the door behind me, exhaling loudly once I was safely in the hallway. "Friends," I said aloud. _Just friends._

"If you say so," someone drawled from behind me, and I whirled around to see Will walking down the hallway, off on whatever nighttime activities he usually partook in. I narrowed my eyes at him, but he simply walked past me with that damn infernal smirk.

I was going to have to think of some new synonyms for _smirk_ very soon, wasn't I?

At least he hadn't known who I'd been talking to, I reasoned with myself, watching him disappear down the corridor before walking across the hall to my room. I could just as easily have been talking to him.

Or at least that was what I told myself.


	9. Nine

**I** woke up in the middle of the night to the mournful, haunting sound of Jem's violin. The music, as always, sent shivers through me, and I lay awake for what felt like hours, staring at the dark ceiling and letting my mind go blank. His music moved me in a way no other song had done before, and I was sure that I wouldn't have been as affected if it had been any other violinist, even a world-class one. I pictured Jem's slim fingers moving effortlessly across the bow, wringing the melancholy notes out of the instrument, and that slight frown he had as he concentrated on the music. It took me at least ten minutes before I remembered that I wasn't supposed to be thinking about him, and I angrily turned over in bed and pummelled my pillow into a more comfortable position. I'd never been this obsessed with a boy before—I'd never lie awake thinking of them, and I most certainly wouldn't daydream about them when they weren't in the room. Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that I'd never been as close with any boy as I was with Jem…but then again, they did say that the sweetest love was the forbidden one.

Almost as soon as I came to this realization, the music abruptly cut off, the note dying away into silence, and I half-sat up in concern, wondering if he was ill or had merely fallen asleep again. But just as I was debating whether or not to go over to him, I heard quiet voices drifting across the hallway. I recognized Jem's at once, and then the answering murmur of the new girl. Tessa. Of course—her room was close to his as well.

Something stirred up inside me then, a hot surge of anger mixed with pain. _Get a grip on yourself! _I thought as soon as I recognized that it was jealousy. _Tessa has the right to speak to whoever she wants. That doesn't mean that they're making out or anything. You're overreacting as usual. Besides, you and Jem are Just Friends. You don't belong in this time and place, and he's going to die soon. This ship is going to sink before it even sets sail._

Blocking out the sound of Jem and Tessa talking, I settled back into bed, still feeling jealous and sick at heart and hating the entire world. Why couldn't I be normal? I'd just realized that I had a crush on Jem twelve hours ago; I wasn't supposed to be insanely jealous just because he was speaking to another girl. Besides, sitting in Jem's room while he played the violin was something I always thought of as _my _pastime. Perhaps I had been stupid enough to believe that he had done it because of me.

Mom, of course, would go into full psychologist mode and say that I was so insecure about myself that I was secretly afraid that Jem would find Tessa more interesting than me and would become close with her instead. _By the Angel,_ I thought, _She's still right even_ _sixty-five years before she was born._

I consoled myself for the rest of the night with the thought that at least I might find another boy like Jem in the future.

* * *

Sophie knocked on my door late the next morning; I hadn't managed to fall asleep until dawn and had hoped that Charlotte would permit me to stay in bed that day. Unfortunately, as I groaned and pulled the pillow back over my head, Sophie was already laying my dress on the bed and opening the curtains. "Did you sleep well, miss?" she asked, seeming oblivious to my disheveled state.

For a moment, I wondered if she was joking, before my muddled brain managed to remember those were her first words to me every morning. I made a noncommittal sigh in response but finally admitted defeat, knowing that she would send Charlotte upstairs if I didn't comply. Reluctantly dragging myself out of bed, I went over to the washstand and splashed cold water on my face, deliberately avoiding looking at my face in the mirror. As I turned back to Sophie, I wondered with a slightly guilty twinge if my jealousy at hearing Jem and Tessa talking was the same jealousy she felt whenever she saw Jem and I together. I wanted to give her a sympathetic smile, but knew that she would vehemently deny her feelings for him if word got out.

But honestly, it would have seemed strange to an outsider that both Sophie and I fancied Jem instead of Will, which would admittedly have been more understandable. Will was incredibly good-looking, and his mysterious, brooding charm was surely something that would make any girl fall deeply in love with him. Jem had an ethereal beauty to him in a way that was completely different from Will's, and did not command attention in the same way that his _parabatai _did. Not for the first time, I wondered whether Tessa had noticed this dichotomy and, if she had, which one she was more drawn towards. She had certainly been staring at Will often enough at dinner…but she'd had a hushed, eager tone of voice when she'd been speaking to Jem.

And there I went again, overanalyzing everything. My distress must have shown plainly on my face, for Sophie stopped lacing up the back of my dress and looked concernedly at me. "Is everything all right, miss?" she asked.

"Yeah, it's fine," I lied. "I just had a bad dream. Look, Sophie, could you please call me Abby? I'm not used to all these formalities."

The other girl smiled at me, and this time I did sense a hint of teasing in her voice when she replied, "As you wish, miss."

* * *

Everyone else was already eating breakfast when I reached the dining-hall—except for Jem, who was again conspicuously absent. Tessa gave me a shy smile when I sat down next to her, and I couldn't help but smile back. There was something about her that was impossible to dislike, an endearing quality to her face. Perhaps it was her wide eyes—they weren't childlike, exactly, but they were open and easy to read. Anyone who was still able to trust again after having been imprisoned for six weeks earned respect in my books, and Tessa had gone through an even worse ordeal than I had.

As I dug into breakfast, Charlotte announced, "Will, today I'd like you to revisit the site of the Dark Sisters' house; it's abandoned now, but it's still worth a final search. And I want you to take Jem with you—"

Will slowly put his fork down; there was no trace of amusement at all in his face. "Is he well enough?" he asked, a question that had immediately come to my mind as well.

"He is quite well enough," said a mild voice from the door, and my heart pounded ridiculously at the sound of Jem's voice. "In fact, he's ready when you are."

Not wanting to appear overeager, I studiously avoided looking at him, although I could tell from the corner of my eye that he was wearing his bright red waistcoat—his favourite colour. _Now is not the time, Abby, _a voice chided in my head that sounded suspiciously like my mother's.

"You should have some breakfast first," Charlotte encouraged, pushing the plate of bacon toward him. Jem obediently sat down and smiled across the table at Tessa, which sent my insides into another frenzy of jealousy. "Oh, Jem—this is Miss Gray. She's—"

"We've met," Jem replied, and I saw the faintest hint of a blush cross Tessa's face. I was struck with the childish urge to stand up and stalk out of the room, but as it was, I bit my bottom lip as hard as I could and concentrated on pushing my food around with my fork. My eyes briefly met Will's across the table, and in that instant I saw my expression mirrored in his. It was as if we understood each other perfectly for a brief second, and I quickly looked away, inwardly marveling. Could Will possibly be _attracted_ to Tessa? Had something gone on in the Dark Sisters' house that I didn't know about? Well, if that was the case, then I wished her all the luck—she would certainly need it.

I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I barely noticed that the others had stopped talking and were all staring at me. "Abby?" Charlotte asked. "Have you been listening?"

"Well—er—no," I admitted, pushing my plate away from me and blushing slightly. Will let out a not-so-subtle laugh, and I kept my gaze firmly on the tabletop.

"You may choose where you want to go today," Charlotte explained, firmly but kindly. "You can investigate the Dark Sisters' house with Will and Jem, or you can go dress shopping with Tessa and Jessamine."

Neither of those options sounded particularly appealing: I shied away at the thought of spending any length of time with Will, and despite the fact that I would be with Jem and it would be my first "real" mission, so to speak, I feared I would somehow get into danger. But I'd also promised myself that I would never go anywhere with Jessamine ever again…

I glanced around the table: Charlotte looked expectant, Henry looked as if he hadn't even heard the question, Jessamine looked haughty, Will looked indifferent—I imagined Jem looked hopeful, although of course I couldn't tell for sure—and though Tessa's expression was merely curious, I thought she looked imploring. Leaving Tessa to go dress shopping with Jessamine was akin to throwing a lamb into a pit of particularly hungry lions. "I'll go with Tessa and Jessamine," I finally said, giving Jem what I hoped was an apologetic look. His face had fallen slightly, and the disappointment gave me a savage pleasure.

"That's settled, then," Charlotte replied, sitting back in her chair. "I'll send the carriage around with Thomas."

* * *

An hour later, I found myself standing in a dressmaker's shop with Jessamine yet again while she paraded around trying on outfits, but at least this time I wasn't forced to endure her haughty remarks alone. Tessa had been quiet for the majority of the carriage ride, and Jessamine boasted enough for all of us, anyway.

To keep my mind off the notion that I'd made the wrong decision, I leaned over and whispered to Tessa, "Shouldn't _you _be the one trying on dresses?"

She appeared to be struggling to give a diplomatic response before finally giving up and saying, "I suppose I do need to pick one for my funeral."

"Your funeral?" I asked, confused.

"Yes." Grinning in a sly sort of way that inexplicably reminded me of Will, she replied, "I shall run out into the street and throw myself under a carriage to end it all. Surely that will be less painful than this."

I had to clap my hand over my mouth to stifle my laughter. "I was considering jumping off a roof. Perhaps I'll land in a cemetery—it'll save on the cost of a hearse."

Tessa looked shocked for a moment before she began to laugh as well, and I was sure we looked like two giggling schoolgirls in that moment. My resolve to dislike her had all but vanished, and I found I couldn't hate her as I thought I would. It was unfair to hold a grudge against her just because she talked to Jem. Besides, I had missed this sort of joking with a girl—it made me feel like I was closer to home.

"What are you laughing about?" Jessamine asked rudely as she walked over toward us, crossing her arms. The dressmaker trailed behind her.

"Nothing," I said lamely, although I might as well not have answered because Jessamine didn't so much as glance at me.

"I'm also looking for a few dresses for my cousin from America," she continued, gesturing toward Tessa and pretending I wasn't there. "The clothes there are simply horrible. She's as plain as a pin, which doesn't help, but I'm sure you can do something with her."

I looked sideways at Tessa, wondering if she was hurt by Jessamine's comment, but she just looked resigned, and even slightly exasperated. I had to give it to her: if Jessamine had called me "plain as a pin", I would be struggling not to cry—mind, she had probably said worse many times when I was out of earshot.

At last now it was Tessa's turn to try on dress after dress, and fortunately I managed to slip out of the shop after half an hour, heading back over to the carriage where Thomas was waiting. I politely inquired about the horses, and he struck up an easy conversation with me. I noticed that his eyes lit up every time he spoke of Sophie, and each time he said her name made me feel even worse. I wanted to stop him, to say that Sophie was in love with Jem, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. By the Angel, this was becoming like a bad soap opera. I tried to work it out in my head: Thomas loved Sophie, who loved Jem, who (possibly) was interested in Tessa, who was _definitely _attracted to Will, who hated me, and I had feelings for Jem. The only people exempt from the confusing mess were Charlotte, Henry, Jessamine, and Agatha, and I suspected each of them had their own problems to deal with. And I'd only been at the Institute for two weeks.

While I was inwardly despairing at the mess I had been subjected to, the shop door tinkled from behind me and Jessamine and Tessa came back out, each carrying an armful of bags. Jessamine was talking to Tessa with something akin to excitement in her voice. "…It's such a lovely day, and you've hardly seen anything of London!" she exclaimed. "I think a walk in Hyde Park is in order. And after that, we could go to Gunter's and have Thomas get ices for us!"

I wanted to go back to the Institute and see if Jem was back yet, but there was no way I had any authority over Jessamine. Thomas seemed willing enough to drive us wherever we wanted to go, and Tessa's eyes met mine across the road, raising her eyebrows slightly as if silently asking me what to do. I gave a tiny shrug in response, and she turned to Jessamine and said, "I adore parks."

That was the first time I'd seen Jessamine smile, and the sight was almost enough to make the delay to the Institute worth it. Almost.

* * *

Alas, my temporary tolerance of dear Jessie was not to last, as she began to rant about the other members of the Institute almost as soon as we entered the park. Tessa and I exchanged yet another conspiratorial glance; I sensed that this would be a friendship based on body language rather than words. "Henry wanted access to the Institute so he could work on his little experiments in the cellar and not have to fight. And I don't think he _minded _marrying Charlotte—I don't think there was anyone else he wanted to marry—but if someone else had been running the Institute, he would have married them instead."

I wanted to believe that this wasn't true, that Henry and Charlotte were deeply in love and it had just been a bonus that Henry had access to the Institute, but I had to admit that nothing I'd seen of their interactions toward each other gave proof to my belief. Jessamine's words stung, but they were most likely true.

"And then there's the boys—Will and Jem," she continued haughtily; I immediately snapped out of my thoughts about how to bring Henry and Charlotte closer together. "Jem's pleasant enough, but you know how foreigners are. Not really trustworthy and basically selfish and lazy. He's always in his room, pretending to be ill, refusing to do anything to help anyone out."

"That's not true!" I said hotly, startling even myself. "He can't help being ill and you know it. Besides, he does a lot more to help out than _you_."

I had never spoken so rudely to anyone before, and my hand clapped over my mouth as soon as I realized what I'd said. Both girls were staring at me; Jessamine flipped her hair back, smirked, and said, "Ignore her, Tessa. She's head over heels for Jem—don't believe a word of what she says."

"What?" I spluttered. "How do you know that? I mean—what makes you think that?" I could feel my face turning hot, and I wished Tessa's gaze wasn't so intense.

"Oh, please," Jessamine snorted. "Your little fancy is even more obvious than Sophie's is. Whenever he walks into the room you look at him as if he's the only man in the world. It's been like that since the first day you arrived here."

I opened my mouth, searching for something equally as insulting to say back, but Tessa hurriedly placed herself between us, interrupting with, "What about Will?"

"_Will_," Jessamine snorted, shaking her head; I was half-annoyed, half-grateful to Tessa for changing the topic. "He's handsome enough, but behaves like a lunatic half the time; it's as if he were brought up by savages. He has no respect for anyone and anything, no concept of the way a gentleman is supposed to behave. I suppose it's because he's Welsh."

The disdain in her voice made it obvious that being Welsh was not a compliment in her opinion, and I dimly remembered my mother telling me once that Dad had ancestors from Wales. I wondered if I should be offended at her condescension, or feel even prouder of my heritage—after all, Wales couldn't be so horrible if Jessamine disliked it.

At any rate, my attention was again caught by a tickling on my foot. I glanced down, my eyes widening in horror when I saw a large brown spider on my shoe. To make matters worse, I could have sworn that it was the exact same spider I'd seen at the Pandemonium Club and in the motel room. There was absolutely no way that spiders this large were native to Britain.

I stuck my foot out and discreetly tried to shake the spider off. It landed in the grass a few feet away and I breathed a sigh of relief, but froze when I saw it scuttling in the grass back toward me. "You two go along without me," I said loudly to Tessa and Jessamine, who hadn't noticed my predicament. "I'm going back to the carriage." With that, I took off down the path, hiking up my dress and dashing past couples going for walks and weaving through benches, on which women looked down their noses at me for behaving in such an unladylike manner. But I couldn't care less what they thought of me.

Several times I turned around, seeing if the spider was still following me; I hoped someone had trampled it with their boots. When I reached the carriage I leapt into it, ignoring Thomas's questions, and slammed the door behind me, feeling as if I was running from the Greater Demon all over again.

The girls arrived back scarcely ten minutes later; Tessa looked shaken and I noticed the tip of Jessamine's parasol was covered in blood. "What happened?" I whispered to Tessa as she slid into the seat next to me, hoping that Jessamine hadn't lost her temper and stabbed her.

"We encountered a goblin and Jessamine was defending us," Tessa answered, although I was sure she was leaving out a large part of the story. "Why did you leave so quickly?"

"I was feeling a bit lightheaded," I lied. "The heat was getting to me."

We lapsed into an uncomfortable silence as the carriage jerked to life and began to head back to the Institute. Jessamine was staring straight ahead, blood dripping from her parasol onto her dress.

"So, what is San Francisco like?" Tessa finally asked, as if trying to make polite conversation. "I have always wanted to visit."

I gulped. "Big. And um…there are a lot of people."

Tessa blinked. "It is very like New York, then."

"Yeah." I flailed, sensing the conversation was already dying. "The Golden Gate Bridge is amazing, though. If you ever get the chance, you should definitely see it." Oh, damn! Had the bridge even been built yet? I didn't think so. Wasn't it built in the nineteen-thirties?

Charlotte had taken me aside after dinner the previous night and told me that she had instructed the others not to breathe a word about my past—or rather, _future_—and Jem's illness. It would be up to us to tell Tessa when we were ready, she'd said. I had been grateful, although I couldn't help but wonder if Jem had already explained everything about himself to her, since he'd opened up fairly quickly to me.

Tessa frowned. "I have never heard about any such bridge."

I looked, terrified, over at Jessamine to see if she would make some sort of snide remark, but she appeared to be lost in her own unpleasant world. "It's not very well-known," I said lamely, and my reluctance to speak about the matter must have been clear to Tessa, for she did not attempt to start a conversation again.

Jessamine stood up as soon as the carriage halted outside the gates to the Institute, waiting for Thomas to help her down before she exited. Tessa followed right after, and by the time I hopped down the steps, thankful there were no spiders in sight, the girls were already disappearing into the house. Jessamine appeared to have grabbed Tessa's hand and was dragging her inside. Giving a thankful smile to Thomas, I hurried inside after them, where Jessamine had finally turned back to me, turning up her nose slightly, as if she had suddenly remembered I was there. "Come along too, Abby, if you must," she said, setting off down the corridor with Tessa in tow. I looked longingly at the staircase winding upstairs, wondering if Jem was back, but Tessa's pleading look she threw at me over her shoulder was enough to make me reluctantly follow Jessamine instead.

She led us through a corridor that I had never taken, despite it looking identical to the hallway outside my room, and into a large bedroom that was at least twice the size of mine. The covers on the bed were painted with flowers, unlike my plain white coverlet, and she had a white vanity table with a bright silver hairbrush and mirror. The window looked out onto the leafy side yard; much more interesting than my view of the coppery sky.

"Your room is lovely," Tessa said as Jessamine shut the door behind us, and I had to reluctantly agree.

But the other girl looked contemptuous. "It's much too small," she replied, causing me to stifle a snort. "But come—over here." She beckoned for us to follow her to the window, where a miniature dollhouse stood on the table. Tessa knelt down so she could see it more clearly, and even I had to admit that it was extraordinary: this was no ordinary dollhouse. Everything was painstakingly detailed, down to the wallpaper and the oil paintings on the walls. I wasn't even sure if the dollhouses in 1978 were built quite like this.

"This was my house," Jessamine was saying, her eyes fixed on it. Her tone was one of reverence and awe.

"You mean this was the dollhouse you had when you were a little girl?" Tessa asked.

"No—this was my _house_. My father had this made for me when I was six. It's modeled exactly on the house we lived in, on Curzon Street. This was the wallpaper we had in the dining-room, and those are exactly the chairs in my father's study. You see?"

I was beginning to understand where she was going with this, but Tessa still looked baffled. "It's very pretty," she said awkwardly, in a hesitant tone I often found myself using.

"See, here in the parlor is Mama," Jessamine continued, and I wondered if she was feeling all right. "And here in the study, reading a book, is Papa. And upstairs in the nursery is Baby Jessie. Later they'll have dinner here, in the dining room. And then Mama and Papa will sit in the drawing-room by the fire. Some nights they go to the theater, or to a ball or a dinner. And then Mama will kiss Papa good night, and they will go to their rooms, and they will sleep _all night long_. There will be no calls from the Clave that drive them out in the middle of the night to fight demons in the dark. There will be no one tracking blood into the house. No one will lose an arm or an eye to a werewolf, or have to choke down holy water because a vampire attacked them."

Grudgingly, I found that I could understand Jessamine. I had never wanted this life either, and now I, like her, was being forced into it. But the conundrum was that I found I was actually _enjoying _it so far—the training part, at least. Had Jessamine even _tried _to live as a Shadowhunter, or had she dismissed the possibility straight away?

"When our house burned," she continued, her eyes taking on a quality that was almost like despair, "I had nowhere else to go. It wasn't as if there were relations that could take me in; all of Mama and Papa's relations were Shadowhunters and hadn't spoken to them since they'd broken with the Clave. Henry is the one who made me that parasol. Did you know that? I thought it was quite pretty until he told me that the fabric is edged with electrum, as sharp as a razor. It was always meant to be a weapon."

"You saved us," Tessa said in a soft voice. "In the park today. I can't fight at all. If you hadn't done what you did—"

But Jessamine interrupted her. "I shouldn't have done it. I will not have this life, Tessa. I _will not have it. _I don't care what I have to do. I won't live like this. I'd rather die."

_Damn Jessamine for making me feel sorry for her, _I thought, but before I could attempt a half-hearted attempt at consoling her, the door opened behind us and Sophie walked in, looking wary. "Miss Tessa, Mr Branwell very much wants to see you in his study," she said. "He says it's important."

Tessa half-glanced over at Jessamine, and the other girl snapped, "Go along, then, if Henry wants you. I'm quite tired of you already, and I think I'm getting a headache. I don't want you here either, Abby, you're even more useless than Tessa. Sophie, when you return, I'll need you to massage my temples with eau de cologne."

"As you like, Miss Jessamine," Sophie said calmly. I scrambled to my feet and left the room without a glance back at Jessamine; her parting comment had certainly done nothing to endear her to me. Tessa was right behind me, and it was with an enormous amount of relief that Sophie finally closed the door behind us.

Now I couldn't help feeling a bit annoyed; what was so important that Henry could possibly want to see Tessa about? Wasn't he supposed to be helping _me_, not her? I was the one from the future and desperately needed to go back home.

While I sulked, Sophie led us back through the Institute and to the stairs leading down to the crypt. I took a step back, shivering in the cold air that drifted upstairs from the open door. As they prepared to go downstairs, Tessa turned shyly to me and said, "Thank you for coming with me today, Abby. I feel as if I would have had a much less pleasant time without you."

I hesitated before finally saying, "What are friends for?"

And I found that, as Tessa smiled back at me, I was no longer jealous of her.


	10. Ten

**This chapter follows the book quite closely, but it's necessary.**

* * *

**I** decided to go down to dinner early that night, hoping that I would arrive there first and eat before everyone else showed up. A strange melancholy mood had stolen over me, and I'd spent the remainder of the afternoon in my bedroom, flipping aimlessly through the _Codex _and trying not to think about the spider I had seen. I kept imagining I felt phantom legs brushing against my skin, or saw the shadow of an insect on the stone floor…something definitely wasn't right about that spider, and I knew that I should tell Charlotte about it, but I feared sounding idiotic or whiny. What if it was perfectly normal that spiders this large lived in London during the nineteenth century? Perhaps with the industrialization that would occur very soon, they would have become extinct or driven out to the country…

I'd very nearly convinced myself this was the case when I heard impatient voices drifting out from the dining-hall, and I sighed under my breath. So much for stealing out of dinner early. Bracing myself for the worst, I pushed open the door and stepped inside, my eyebrows shooting up when I caught sight of Will standing on the sideboard, fiddling with the gasolier. "What are you doing?"

"Fixing the gasolier," he replied irritably, glancing down at me as if amazed by my stupidity. "What does it _look _like I'm doing?"

Jem, who was sitting on a chair next to him, beckoned me over. "Apparently it's too crooked for his liking," he stage-whispered as I slid into the seat next to him.

I laughed, glancing up at Will. "I don't see anything wrong with it."

"Perhaps that is because your eyes need to be fixed just as much as the gasolier," Will announced, but neither Jem nor I paid attention to him this time.

"How was dress shopping?" Jem asked, turning towards me and grinning.

"Absolutely _fascinating_," I replied, injecting as much sarcasm as I possibly could into the words. "Jessamine is such a lovely girl to spend time with."

"I'll take your word for it," he said, lips twitching.

I felt a certain giddiness at making him laugh. "How was the investigation?"

"Fascinating," Jem echoed, although with slightly less sarcasm, and was about to explain further when the door banged open and Jessamine barged in. She took one look at Will before turning around and stalking out again. I stared after her, dumbfounded, while Will snorted with laughter. Even Jem was smiling.

"Perhaps you should fix the gasolier more often if it is going to make her leave," I called up to Will, feeling unusually daring.

"That is a novel idea, future girl," he said, still half-laughing. "It is a wonder I haven't thought of this before."

A moment later the dining-hall doors opened yet again, but this time it was Tessa who appeared through them. Her grey eyes widened just as mine had when she caught sight of Will.

"It serves you right if you break it," Jem was saying to his _parabatai. _When Will didn't give any response except for a muffled grunt, he glanced over at Tessa and his face lit up. "Good evening, Tessa. I was hanging the gasolier crookedly, and Will is endeavoring to straighten it."

"It was _you _who hung the gasolier crookedly?" I asked in spite of myself. "You declined to tell me that part."

A light blush covered Jem's cheeks and he quickly looked down, as if he were embarrassed. Just as I was puzzling over his strange behavior, Jessamine stalked back into the room and glared daggers at Will. "Really!" she shrieked. "Can't you get Thomas to do that? A gentleman needn't—"

Will continued to look dryly amused. "Is that blood on your sleeve, Jessie?" he asked, indicating the large red stain on her dress.

If he had been any closer, I was sure Jessamine would have slapped him, but as it was she had to settle for tossing her head in indignation and stalking over to the end of the table, where she dropped into a chair and crossed her arms, glaring straight ahead like an upset child.

Jem looked worriedly between Tessa and I. "Did something happen while you and Jessamine were out?" he asked.

Tessa and I shared a quick glance, and before I could hurriedly make up an excuse she spoke instead. "No. It was nothing—"

"I've done it!" Henry's triumphant voice cried, and he burst into the room waving a copper tube in one hand. "I'll wager you didn't think I could, did you?"

"None of us have the slightest idea what you're on about," Will muttered. "Did you know that?"

_Has he finally invented a Portal? _I thought hopefully, but at Henry's next words my hopes were dashed. "I've gotten my Phosphor to work at last. It functions on the principle of witchlight but is five times more powerful. Merely press a button, and you will see a blaze of light the like of which you have never imagined."

"So, it's a very, very bright witchlight, then?" Will asked, after a long silence.

Henry didn't seem to notice his derisive tone. "Exactly."

As usual, Jem was the diplomatic one. "Is that useful, precisely? After all, witchlight is just for illumination. It's not as if it's dangerous…"

"Wait till you see it!" Henry exclaimed. "Watch."

Without further ado, he raised the tube. There was a blinding flash of light and the room was instantly plunged into darkness. I heard Tessa yelp and Jem laugh quietly.

"Am I blind?" Will's voice came from the corner, sounding annoyed. "I'm not going to be at all pleased if you've blinded me, Henry."

"No," Henry insisted. "No, the Phosphor seems to—well, it seems to have turned all the lights in the room _off."_

"It's not supposed to do that?" Jem asked mildly.

"Er, no," was Henry's answering reply.

I was about to ask what we were supposed to do next when there was an almighty crash and I nearly jumped out of my chair, flinching away from the noise.

"Will!" Charlotte's exasperated voice cried. "What on earth…"

A bright light flooded the room, and I raised my hands to my face, shielding my eyes from the sudden brightness. I could dimly see Will sitting on the floor amidst a pile of broken tableware. While everyone stared at him, he got to his feet and argued, "I was trying to straighten the gasolier."

Charlotte shook her head in exasperation. "Thomas could have done that. And now you've gone and wrecked half the plates."

"And much obliged to your idiot husband for that," Will muttered, looking down at himself. "I think I've broken something. The pain is quite agonizing."

"You seem quite intact to me," Charlotte said uncaringly. "Get up. I suppose we'll be eating by witchlight tonight."

"I _hate _witchlight," Jessamine loudly complained. "It makes my complexion look absolutely green."

"She hates a lot of things, doesn't she?" a voice whispered directly next to my ear, and I nearly jumped out of my skin for the second time in five minutes, staring over at an amused Jem.

"I've noticed," I said weakly.

* * *

Over dinner, Charlotte filled us in on her and Henry's visit to Axel Mortmain, a mundane who was apparently a member of the Pandemonium Club and who Tessa had heard about from the Dark Sisters. Jem and Will had found an automaton in the Dark House and brought it back for Henry to examine, hence his summoning of Tessa earlier that afternoon. I had to admit that it sounded far too eerie for my tastes—automatons made out of human flesh and running by clockwork.

Tessa was also quite optimistic about the fact that the entire endeavor might be connected to her brother somehow—I pitied the poor girl; she was so desperate to get her brother back that now it seemed as if she was grasping at straws, despite the fact Henry and Charlotte had no evidence as of yet. But Nate's involvement with the Pandemonium Club had made me even more certain that the blond man I had encountered was Tessa's brother. My stomach churned uncomfortably as I debated whether or not to tell Tessa what I had seen.

As I watched everyone talking, I began to muse about what was going to happen to everyone. Had they been killed in battle, or lived long, happy lives? Surely the Shadowhunters would all be dead by 1978…but if Tessa was indeed a warlock, there was a chance she might still be around since warlocks were immortal…perhaps if that was the case, I could secretly contact her once I got back home.

Sophie slipped into the room halfway through dinner and whispered something in Charlotte's ear. Looking intent, Charlotte rose from her seat immediately and left the room, pausing only to gently touch Henry's shoulder.

"Where's she going?" Jessamine asked as soon as Charlotte had disappeared.

"Indeed, Sophie, my dear," said Will. "Where _did _she go?"

"If Mrs Branwell had wanted you to know, I'm sure she would have told you," Sophie snapped, unable to conceal the anger in her voice, before turning around and exiting the room.

"Well, then," Henry began, jerking back to attention with a start. "What was it we were discussing?"

"None of that," Will admonished. "We want to know where Charlotte's gone. Did something happen?"

Henry shook his head "No. I mean, I don't _think_ so—" he sighed. "Charlotte doesn't always tell me what she's doing. You know that. Can't blame her, really. Can't count on me to be sensible."

I felt a pang of sorrow for him. He _must_ be fond of her if he looked that hurt by his words.

"That clockwork object you wear around your neck—might I see it for a moment?" Henry asked Tessa. She hesitated before unhooking the angel necklace I'd only briefly seen before from around her neck and handing it to him.

"This is a clever little object," Henry mused, turning it over in his hands. "Where did you get it?"

"It was my mother's," answered Tessa.

Henry made a nose of appreciation. "Like a sort of talisman. Would you mind if I examined it in the laboratory?"

"Oh," she said, sounding startled. "If you're very careful with it. It's all I have of my mother's. If it were broken…"

"Henry won't break or damage it," Jem said to her, a reassuring tone to his voice. "He's really very good with this sort of thing."

"It's true," Henry himself agreed. "I'll return it to you in pristine condition."

"Well…" Tessa began. I didn't blame her; I would have felt the same way if it had been my purse.

"I don't see what the fuss is," Jessamine spoke up haughtily. "It's not like it has diamonds in it."

"Some people value sentiment over diamonds, Jessamine." Charlotte interrupted; she was standing in the doorway. "There is someone here who wants to speak to you, Tessa."

"With _me?"_

"Well, who _is _it?" Will asked impatiently. "Must you keep us all in suspense?"

"It's Lady Belcourt," Charlotte replied, sounding more than a bit wary. "She's downstairs. In the Sanctuary Room."

"Now? Did something happen?"

Charlotte nodded. "I contacted her. About de Quincey. Just before supper. I hoped she would have some information, and she does, but she insists on seeing Tessa first. It seems that despite all our precautions, rumours about Tessa have leaked into Downworld, and Lady Belcourt is…interested."

"Interested in _what?_" asked Tessa. "Who is Lady Belcourt? Is she a Shadowhunter?"

Jem was the one to answer this time. "She's a vampire. A vampire _informant_, actually. She gives information to Charlotte and keeps us apprised of what's going on in the Night community."

"You needn't speak to her if you don't want to, Tessa," Charlotte added. "I can send her away."

But Tessa was already shaking her head. "No. If she's well informed about de Quincey, perhaps she knows something about Nate as well. I can't risk her being sent off if she might have information. I'll go."

"Don't you even want to know what she wants from you?" Will asked.

Tessa looked straight at him. "Aside from the Dark Sisters, I've never really met another Downworlder. I think—that I would like to."

"Tessa—" Jem began, but she had already stood up, leaving the room without a glance back at anyone. Will jumped up and followed her without hesitation. Jem stood up as well; he was at the doorway before he turned back around, his eyes meeting mine.

"Are you coming along, Abby?" he asked.

I looked back at Henry and Jessamine. Henry was preoccupied with his peas and Jessamine was staring out the window. It was doubtful that either of them would notice my absence. "Er, yeah, I guess," I said, and followed Jem out of the dining-hall.

* * *

We caught up with Will, Charlotte and Tessa thirty seconds later; Charlotte turned around to look at us disapprovingly but didn't speak. "You didn't _really _think we weren't going to come along, did you?" Will asked Tessa.

"I know _you _can't leave anything well alone," she said crossly. "But I thought better of Jem and Abby."

"Jem persuaded me," I said awkwardly, much to Will's amusement.

"I'm sure he didn't need to do much of—" he began, but Jem interrupted him.

"Where Will goes, I go," the silver-haired boy explained. "And besides, I'm as curious as he is."

"That hardly seems a subject for boasting," Tessa muttered before glancing around us; the hallway was narrower and darker. "Where _are _we going? Have we turned the wrong way?"

"Patience is a virtue, Miss Gray," Will replied, the familiar mocking tone back in his voice.

While Charlotte explained to Tessa about the Sanctuary and its uses for Downworlders, I was beginning to wonder why I'd come along with them. I didn't particularly want to meet a vampire, or walk through these spooky corridors. Then I automatically glanced over at Jem, and he grinned shyly at me.

Oh. That was why.

"Is it a curse?" Tessa was asking. "Being a vampire?"

"No," said Charlotte. "We think it is a sort of demon disease. Most diseases that affect demons are not transmissible to human beings, but in some cases, usually through a bite or scratch, the disease can be passed on. Vampirism. Lycanthropy—"

"Demon pox," Will interjected, to Charlotte's irritation.

"Will, there's no such thing as demon pox, and you know it," she said firmly. "Now, where was I?"

"Being a vampire isn't a curse. It's a disease," she repeated. "But they still can't enter hallowed ground, then? Does that mean they're damned?"

"That depends on what you believe," Jem said quietly. "And whether you even believe in damnation at all.

Tessa looked shocked. "But you hunt demons. You must believe in damnation!"

Jem shrugged. "I believe in good and evil. And I believe the soul is eternal. But I don't believe in the fiery pit, the pitchforks, or endless torment. I do not believe you can threaten people into goodness."

Tessa, apparently satisfied with this explanation, turned to Will. "What about you? What do you believe?"

"_Pulvis et umbra sumus," _he recited coolly. "I believe we are dust and shadows. What else is there?"

"Whatever you believe, please don't suggest to Lady Belcourt that you think she's damned," Charlotte said wryly, stopping at a pair of dark mahogany doors I vaguely recognized from the tour Jem had given me. "She has very kindly offered to help us, and there's no purpose in offering her such insults. That applies to you especially, Will. If you can't be polite, I'll send you out of the Sanctuary. Jem, I trust you to be your charming self. Abby, I hope you will follow Jem's lead. Tessa, try not to be frightened."

The others filed into the Sanctuary one by one; I, of course, was last. Seated in one of the plush armchairs directly across the room was a beautiful, pale woman. Her muted green eyes watched us, cat-like and with a cunning deceptiveness to them. Her blonde hair was curled and tumbled down her back. She was even more beautiful than Jessamine. I had never seen a vampire before, and my breath caught.

"Douse your witchlight, Will," Charlotte muttered under her breath before raising her voice. "So good of you to wait for us, Baroness. I trust you have found the Sanctuary comfortable enough for your tastes?"

"As always, Charlotte," the vampire said, albeit in a bored tone.

"Lady Belcourt," Charlotte began, "Please let me introduce you to Miss Theresa Gray. Beside her are Mr James Carstairs and Miss Abigail Cartwright, two of our young Shadowhunters, and with them is—"

"William Herondale," Lady Belcourt interjected. "Fancy you coming to greet me."

Charlotte looked surprised. "You _know _each other?"

"William won twenty pounds from me at faro," said Lady Belcourt. "A few weeks ago, in a Downworld gambling house run by the Pandemonium Club."

This only served to make Charlotte look even more flabbergasted. "You _did?_"

Will shrugged. "It was part of the investigation. I was disguised as a foolish mundane who had come to the place to partake in vice. It would have aroused suspicion had I refused to gamble." I wondered if that had been the Downworlder haunt he'd been arguing about with Jem that first day in the training room.

"Nevertheless, Will, that money you won was evidence. You should have given it to the Clave," Charlotte said sternly.

He looked unabashed. "I spent it on gin."

"_Will._"

"The spoils of vice are a burdensome responsibility," he said, looking the picture of innocence.

"Yet one you seem strangely able to bear," Jem said, amused.

I suddenly realized that I was standing so close to Jem that my hand was brushing his. I was unexpectedly struck with a vision of pulling him close and kissing him deeply, feeling every line of his body against mine. My mouth dropped open slightly as I contemplated it, enjoying the mental picture far more than I should. By the time I managed to pull myself together and concentrate on the conversation again, the topic had changed.

"Lady Belcourt—if you'll pardon my asking—what is it exactly that you want from Tessa?" Jem asked.

Lady Belcourt looked at Tessa. "You can disguise yourself as anyone, is that correct? A perfect disguise—appearance, voice, and manner? That's what I have heard. I have my sources."

Tessa nodded. "Yes. That is, I have been told the disguise is identical."

"It would have to be perfect," the vampire mused. "If you were to disguise yourself as me—"

"As _you?_" Charlotte asked. "Lady Belcourt, I don't see—"

"_I _see," Will said self-importantly. "If Tessa were disguised as Lady Belcourt, she could make her way into one of de Quincey's parties. She could observe him breaking the Law. Then the Clave could attack, without shattering the Accords."

Camille smirked. "Quite the little strategist, you are."

"And it would also provide a perfect opportunity to search de Quincey's residence," Jem added. "See what we can discover about his interest in those automatons. If he really has been murdering mundanes, there's no reason to think that it wasn't for more purposes than mere sport."

"We would have to figure out some way to signal the Clave from inside de Quincey's," Will agreed. "Perhaps Henry could devise something. It would be invaluable to have a blueprint of the house's construction—"

"_Will,_" Tessa said decisively. "I don't—"

His gaze moved to her. "And of course you wouldn't be alone. I would go with you. I wouldn't let anything happen to you." Was it just me, or did he sound almost protective?

Charlotte was shaking her head. "Will, no. You and Tessa alone, in a house full of vampires? I forbid it."

"Then who would you send in with her, if not me?" Will challenged. "You know I can protect her, and you know I'm the right choice—"

"_I _could go. Or Henry."

"I'm afraid I agree with William," Lady Belcourt spoke up again. "The only individuals admitted to these parties are de Quincey's close friends, vampires, and the human subjugates of vampires. De Quincey has seen Will before, passing as a mundane fascinated by the occult; he won't be surprised to find out that he's graduated to vampiric servitude."

Charlotte, sensing she was losing, protested, "But Will is only seventeen."

He was ready for her objection. "Most human subjugates _are _young. Vampires like to acquire their subjugates when they're youthful—prettier to look at, and less chance of diseased blood. And they'll live a bit longer, though not much. Most of the rest of the Enclave wouldn't be able to pass convincingly as a handsome young human subjugate—"

"Because the rest of us are all hideous, are we?" Jem asked wryly. "Is that why I can't do it?"

"No," said Will. "You know why it can't be you. And Abby is hardly trained."

I met Jem's eyes, anxiety written all over my face, and he squeezed my wrist reassuringly. My thoughts scattered at his touch.

"I'm truly not sure about this," Charlotte was saying, still worried. "When is the next of these events set to happen, Camille?"

"Saturday night."

Charlotte bit her lip. "I'll have to speak to the Enclave, before I can agree. And Tessa would have to agree as well."

"You believe that there's a chance my brother might be there?" Tessa asked Camille.

Camille regarded her for a long moment before speaking. "I cannot promise he will be there. He might. But _someone _there will likely know what has happened to him. The Dark Sisters were regulars at de Quincey's parties; doubtless they or their cohorts, if captured or interrogated, will yield you some answers."

After a long pause, Tessa replied, "I'll do it. But I want to be promised that _if _Nate is there, we'll get him out, and if he isn't, we'll find out where he is. I want to make sure it's not all about catching de Quincey. It must be about saving Nate, too."

"Of course," said Charlotte. "But I don't know, Tessa. It will be very dangerous—"

"Have you ever Changed yourself into a Downworlder?" Will inquired of Tessa. "Do you even know if it's something that would be possible?"

Tessa shook her head. "I've never done anything like that. But…I could try." She turned to Camille. "Could I have something of yours? A ring, or a handkerchief perhaps."

Camille took off the ruby necklace that glittered against her throat like Jem's jade pendant and handed it to Tessa. "Here. Take this."

Tessa reached out and took a deep breath, closing her eyes. Although I had seen her Change into Jessamine before, it was still unnerving to watch her features warp and twist, dissolving into those of Camille's. But when the Change was complete, she didn't look confident as she had with Jessamine: a look of terror crossed her face and she immediately sank into an armchair.

Jem sank to his knees and took one of Tessa's hands. I was admittedly too worried to feel any jealousy, although I was sure it would return in full force later. "Tessa?" he asked.

Tessa choked, "Oh, God. I—my heart's not beating. I feel as if I've died. Jem—"

Jem murmured something to her in a soothing voice. I looked up at Camille, who was smirking as she watched the exchange. Charlotte looked concerned, and Will's expression was unfathomable. The two of us shared a prolonged glance, and this time Will was the first to look away. I felt as if some silent communication had passed between us, although I had no idea what it meant.

After a long, tense minute, Tessa opened her eyes and smiled gratefully at Jem.

Charlotte was the first to speak. "Tessa. Are you—is everything all right?"

Tessa seemed about to answer, but Camille was already talking. "You will have to practice a bit, moving and holding yourself, if you wish to convince de Quincey that you are me. I would never slump in a chair like that. Still, overall, an impressive showing. Someone trained you well."

We all watched as Tessa Changed back into herself and stood up, Jem rising with her. He took his previous spot next to me, and again our fingers brushed. This time neither of us pulled away.

"My necklace?" Camille asked coolly. Tessa handed it to Charlotte, who crossed the room to return it to Camille. I saw Tessa's eyes fly over to Will before she quickly glanced away.

"Lady Belcourt, since none of us have ever been in de Quincey's home, do you think it would be possible for you to provide a floor plan, or even a sketch of the grounds and rooms?" he asked; I couldn't tell whether he'd noticed Tessa's glance or not.

Camille pursed her lips. "I shall provide you with something better. Magnus Bane."

I involuntarily gasped; the name was familiar to me and I was sure I'd heard it before, although I couldn't pinpoint exactly where. Jem gave me a quizzical look, but I didn't return it. I didn't want to draw any attention to myself; Camille hadn't so much as even acknowledged my presence.

"The warlock?" Charlotte said, baffled.

"Indeed," nodded Camille. "He knows the town house as well as I do and is often invited to de Quincey's social events. Though, like me, he has formerly eschewed the parties at which murder is committed."

"Noble of him," Will said under his breath.

"He will meet you there, and guide you through the house. No one there will be surprised to see us together. Magnus Bane is my lover, you see."

Tessa, Jem and Charlotte all looked startled. I wondered why the word had such an impression on them, and then remembered the strict morals of the Victorian era. Anything relating to love or sex was strictly taboo. Really, it was a wonder any of them even knew what sex _was_.

"How nice," Charlotte said awkwardly.

"Indeed it is," Camille said as she stood up; she was nearly as tall as Tessa. "And now, if someone will escort me out. It grows late, and I have not yet fed."

"Will, Jem, if you'll go?" Charlotte asked them quietly, and they began to follow Camille out of the room. Before she left, however, the vampire turned to Tessa one last time.

"If you can do this, and you succeed—whether or not you find your brother—I can promise you, little shape-shifter, that you won't regret it," she said, and with a flash of perfectly white teeth she vanished out the door.

Tessa, frowning, turned to Charlotte. "What do you think she meant by that? That I won't regret it?"

Charlotte shook her head. "I don't know. I'd like to think that she meant that the knowledge of a good deed done would console you, but it's Camille, so…"

"Are all vampires like that?" Tessa continued. "Cold like that?"

"Many of them have been alive a long time," Charlotte explained, apparently searching for the politest way to phrase it. "They don't see things the way we do."

Tessa rubbed her temples and turned to me, her grey eyes seeming as if she was thinking about a different place entirely. "Indeed," she said in a low voice, "They don't."


	11. Eleven

**"Y**ou point out your feet too much when you walk," Will said cheerfully, for once not directing his criticism at me. He was looking instead at Tessa, who had spent the past hour pacing around the library disguised as Lady Belcourt. "Camille walks delicately. Like a faun in the woods. Not a duck."

"I do not walk like a duck," Tessa retorted; I couldn't blame her for looking insulted.

"I like ducks," said Jem, diplomatic as always. He and Will were sitting at the table while I hovered by the bookshelves, unsure whether to stay or leave. I had been dragged down here against my wishes after my training session earlier that morning. "Especially the ones in Hyde Park."

"Abby walks like a duck too," Will said offhandedly, ignoring Jem. "Haven't you noticed?"

I glanced up from where I had been studiously ignoring them, indignant. "I do not! In fact, I _hate_ ducks."

Jem laughed at my affronted expression. "You have to admit, though, you and Tessa are rather alike."

Tessa and I exchanged a puzzled look; what on earth could I, a blonde-haired, brown-eyed Shadowhunter, have in common with a brown-haired, grey-eyed warlock? But Will was leaning back in his chair, pursing his lips and surveying us both. "I suppose Jem is right," he drawled, looking displeased about this fact. "They do both have large eyes and pointed noses."

"_Will,_" Jem admonished, gently prodding his _parabatai, _"I was speaking in terms of their mannerisms. They both frown when they are upset and play with their hair when they're worried."

I was slightly flattered that he had noticed so much about me, which was quickly dispelled when I considered that he had noticed just as much about Tessa. It had been two days since Camille's visit, and I'd been training with Jem almost constantly. The infiltration in de Quincey's house was taking place tomorrow night, and I was admittedly terrified about my first real outing as a Shadowhunter. Training was one thing, but fighting against demons was another story entirely. Jem had reassured me countless times that I would do splendidly, but I was of a much different opinion. I could barely step on a spider, so what was I do to against a fully-grown demon? To try and boost my confidence, Jem had been training with me day and night, despite his weakening strength, and I had realized too late that my muscles would be too sore by the time I actually had to do anything. I had come down to the library with Jem out of pity, since I was indebted to him for being so patient with me and helping me gain assurance.

"Perhaps you can only touch the thoughts of the dead, Tessa?" he was saying thoughtfully, his silver eyes taking on a faraway quality. "Perhaps most of the objects given to you by the Dark Sisters were taken from people they had murdered."

But Tessa shook her head. "No. I touched Jessamine's thoughts when I Changed into her. So that can't be it, thankfully. What a morbid talent that would be."

"How clearly can you see the thoughts of the dead?" Jem pressed. "For instance, if I gave you an item that once belonged to my father, would you know what he was thinking when he died?" There was almost an undercurrent of desperation in his tone, and I could empathize with him.

_Can you Change into someone who doesn't exist yet? _I thought—it was a notion I had been harboring for the past several days. If I gave Tessa my father's journal, would she be able to Change into him? What would be his thoughts at the moment he died? Had he wished he'd never charged straight into battle without a thought for Mom and I, or was he content to go out in a flash of bravery?

But that question wasn't to be answered, since at that moment the library doors opened and Charlotte appeared, followed by a dozen men whom I recognized from when I had taken my Vows—the London Enclave.

Will jumped up and grabbed my wrist, pulling me behind one of the bookcases. I flinched away from him, surprised at the contact. Jem and Tessa were quick to follow, and the four of us hid behind the shelf.

"Gabriel Lightwood," Jem muttered. "What's he doing here? I thought he was in school in Idris."

I glanced over at Will, who looked like he was a cat who had just spotted a mouse. "He's part of the Enclave now," I whispered to Jem, trying not to think about the fact that he was standing so close I could feel his breath against my skin. "He was at the Institute when I took my Vows."

Jem muttered something in Chinese under his breath. "Just don't get into a fight with him, Will. That's all I ask."

"Rather a lot to ask, don't you think?" Will retorted without looking at him. Cautiously, I leaned around his tall form to see Charlotte, looking exasperated, speaking to a man whom I recognized instantly as Benedict Lightwood.

"And where is Henry? Your husband?" he was asking her. "As one of the heads of the Institute, he really ought to be here."

"He's on his way, Mr Lightwood," Charlotte said with a long-suffering air.

"He'd better be. An Enclave meeting without the head of the Institute present—most irregular." As if he had somehow been alerted to our presence, Benedict's head turned in our direction. This time Will actually grabbed my hand and shoved me behind him before quickly disappearing behind the bookcase himself. But it was too late: Benedict had already spotted us. "And who's back there, then?" he called. "Come out and show yourself!"

Will dropped my hand and looked over to Jem. "No point hiding till they drag us out, is there?"

"Speak for yourself," Tessa cried. "I don't need Charlotte angry at me if we're not supposed to be in here."

"She won't blame either you or Abby," Jem reassured her. "She knows that there's no way either of you would have been aware of the meeting."

This didn't appear to do much to comfort Tessa. Since I was the closest to Benedict, I grudgingly stepped out from behind the shelf first, followed soon after by Will, Jem, and Tessa, the latter having Changed back to her normal self.

"Will," Charlotte said with a heavy, but resigned, sigh. "I told you the Enclave would be meeting here at four o'clock."

"Did you? I must have forgotten that. Dreadful," Will said with a roguish smirk before turning to the boy standing next to Benedict. "'Lo there, Gabriel."

His expression grew perceptibly darker. "William, James, and the Cartwright girl. Aren't you a little young to be lurking around Enclave meetings?"

"Aren't you?" retorted Jem.

"I turned eighteen in June. I have every right to participate in Enclave activities now." Gabriel looked bored.

Before Will could snap back a barbed comment, Callida Fairchild, Charlotte's aunt, bustled up toward us, seeming undeterred by the frosty atmosphere between the two boys. "How fascinating for you," she said, gesturing in Gabriel's direction, before turning eagerly to Tessa. "So is this her, Lottie? The warlock girl you were telling us about? She doesn't look like much."

"Neither did Magnus Bane the first time I saw him," remarked Benedict. "Let's have it then. Show us what you can do."

"I'm not a warlock," Tessa said stubbornly.

This only made Callida look even more interested. "Well, you're certainly something, my girl. If not a warlock, then what?"

To Tessa's obvious relief, Charlotte stepped in. "That will do. Miss Gray has already proven her bona fides to me and Mr Branwell. That will have to be good enough for now—at least until the Enclave makes the decision that they wish to utilize her talents."

"Of course they do," Will burst out. "We haven't a hope of succeeding in this plan without her—"

This was apparently too much for Gabriel, who jumped out of his seat, face bright red. "Mrs Branwell, is William, or is he not, too young to be participating in an Enclave meeting?"

"Yes, he is," Charlotte said wearily. "Will, Jem, Abby, if you'll please wait outside in the corridor with Tessa."

"I will show you out," Gabriel announced, and began to stalk towards the door. I made to follow him, but was distracted by another teenage boy standing just behind Callida. For a moment, I wondered if I had a twin I didn't know about: our eye color, hair color, and build were identical. Our eyes met, and I saw his brow furrow as he registered it too.

Ahead of me, Gabriel, Tessa, Jem and Will had disappeared out the door, but I was too busy staring at the boy to move. "Excuse me," he said in a polished English accent. "Are you Abigail Cartwright?"

"Yes, I am," I said, reaching out to shake his hand. Looking into a mirror of yourself as the opposite gender was extremely strange. "I'm assuming you're a Cartwright as well?"

He nodded, smiling broadly. "My name is Maxwell. Welcome to the family."

I was sure he was a direct ancestor: he could have passed for my father if I had seen him from afar. The family resemblance was too great to be ignored.

Someone cleared their throat impatiently from behind me, and I didn't need to turn around to know that it was Benedict Lightwood. "Maxwell, if you wish to continue speaking to _children_, I am afraid you will have to leave. The meeting cannot commence if there are any underage Shadowhunters present."

Maxwell's smile faltered, and he took a step back. "Maybe we can speak another time," he suggested. "You look like you could be my sister."

"I was just thinking the same thing," I said. I wanted to ask if there was anyone named Jonathan in his family, as it would explain where my father had gotten his name from, but catching Charlotte's eye I quickly stopped myself. I didn't want to give Benedict any more reason to criticize her wards.

As I walked out, I dimly heard him exclaim, "Mrs Branwell, there are _far _too many spiderwebs in here. You know how I dislike spiders."

I couldn't help but grin to myself as the door swung shut behind me. It appeared that my fear of spiders and bugs was genetic.

But I stopped short when I saw the empty corridor stretching out in front of me; the others were nowhere to be seen. Sighing, I began to trudge up the stairs to my room—I'd been left out yet again, although I had to admit that this time had been partly my fault.

Henry suddenly skidded out of a room directly next to me, his eyes wild. "Hello, Abby," he exclaimed as he dashed past. "I'm afraid I'm a bit late for the meeting—the others are in the storage room playing charades if you're looking for them!" He gestured to the door behind him before disappearing around the corner.

Startled, and trying to process what had just happened, I turned back around and made for the storage room instead, gently pulling open the door.

Tessa, Will, and Jem were all sitting in a circle around what looked like a square cut into the floor. As I stepped closer, I could see that it was glittering and shimmering, giving them a glimpse into the dining-hall.

"Well, this is certainly a different sort of charades than I'm used to," I said weakly.

"Be quiet, Abby," Will snapped. "They're talking about you, so you might want to listen." Tessa narrowed her eyes at him, but he didn't look at her.

Jem moved over to give me room, and with a grateful smile I slid between him and Tessa, staring down into the square. I had to admit, eavesdropping on an Enclave meeting was quite fascinating. I wondered if they did it often.

"…There's something funny about that Cartwright girl," Benedict was saying, to my annoyance. "None of the Cartwrights, to my knowledge, have ever visited America."

"Oh, come off it, Benedict," Maxwell scoffed. "She looks exactly like us. Besides, she seems to be fitting in quite nicely."

"All thanks to Mrs Branwell, I would assume," Gabriel drawled loudly; I heard Will hiss under his breath. "Not to mention the fact that there are two available young men living here as well."

Luckily, the dusty storage room was dark enough so that nobody could see my blush. To my great relief, the topic of the conversation had switched from me back to Charlotte.

"Honestly, Charlotte, when will you admit that Henry hasn't anything to do with running this place, and that you're doing it all by yourself?" Callida asked. "Perhaps with help from James Carstairs and Will Herondale, but neither of them is any older than seventeen. How much help can they be?"

"It's too much for one person, especially someone your age," agreed Benedict. "You're only twenty-three years old. If you'd like to step down—"

Charlotte was visibly flustered now, and my heart went out to her. "Consul Wayland assigned the running of the Institute to me and my husband five years ago. If you have some issue with his choice, you should take it up with him. In the meantime I shall direct the Institute as I see fit."

"I hope that means that plans such as the one you're suggesting are still up for a vote? Or are you governing by fiat now?" Benedict's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Don't be ridiculous, Lightwood, of course it's up for a vote," said Callida. "All in favor of moving on de Quincey, say aye."

To my mild surprise, the verdict was unanimous: everyone was in favor of infiltrating de Quincey's. Tessa appeared to be baffled as well, since Jem whispered to her, "They're always like this. They like to jockey for power, but none of them would vote no on an issue like this. They'd be branded a coward for doing so."

I switched my attention back to Benedict, who appeared to have monopolized the meeting yet again. "Very well. Tomorrow night it is, then. Is everyone sufficiently prepared? Are there—"

The timing couldn't have been more perfect: the dining-hall doors swung open and Henry bounded in, calling, "I'm here! Not too late, am I?"

"Henry," Benedict said dryly. "How pleasant to see you. Your wife was just briefing us on your newest invention. The Phosphor, is it?"

"Yes!" he said eagerly, holding a small cylindrical up. "This is it. And I can promise it works as advertised. See?"

"Now, there's no need for a demonstration," Benedict objected, standing up quickly. But it was too late: the square suddenly went black, and there was a sudden loud crash. I cringed as I heard the shattering of glass and thought of Charlotte's precious cutlery.

But Will was smirking evilly. "Bit awkward for Henry, and yet, somehow quite satisfying, don't you think?" he asked. Jem, Tessa, and I all exchanged conspiratorial glances, and were forced to agree.

* * *

I spent the remainder of the evening in the music room, but I was unable to play even a simple song—my mind was too chaotic, full of worry and fear, to be able to remember the names of the keys, let alone the songs. I finally just plopped my head down on the piano, feeling the vibration of the disjointed note reverberate through my brain.

"I thought I'd find you here," I heard Jem say from the front of the room. I kept my face hidden for another moment to hide my smile as I heard him walk across the room and stop behind me. "Abby, are you all right?" he asked, a hint of worry creeping into his tone. His hand gently touched my shoulder, and I shot up, whirling around on the bench to stare, wide-eyed, at him. His silver eyes were concerned, his hand still poised in midair after my sudden movement.

"Yes!" I nearly shrieked, silently cursing myself for spinning around so quickly. I could still feel the warmth of his hand through my dress. "I'm just…really distracted. I can't concentrate properly." _In more ways than one, _I thought dryly.

Jem drew back his hand and slid over on the bench next to me; my heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could see my pulse hammering away in my neck.

"You don't have your violin," I said suddenly; he was usually never without it, especially up here.

He smiled crookedly, seeming a bit embarrassed. "I don't need to have it as an excuse to come up here anymore, right?" he asked.

I swallowed hard; what on earth did he mean by that? "I guess not," I said awkwardly, and the silence stretched on. _How do you feel about Tessa? _I wanted to ask. _How do you feel about me? Listen, Jem, I don't care that we're from completely different worlds. I've fallen for you, and as cliché as it sounds, I have no idea how to get back up. You can even fall in love with Tessa—at least that means I'll be able to know for certain that it's not meant to be. _

"What's bothering you?" he asked me, sending my thoughts scattering. "You look worried."

"Yes—yeah, I am," I said, unable to look at him in fear that I would lose my train of thought again. "I just…I'm still worried about tomorrow night, despite your reassurances."

"You don't have to go, Abby," Jem said kindly. "I can tell Charlotte that you don't feel prepared."

"No, that's not it," I burst out. _I don't want to leave you. _"I _do _want to go. I'm just afraid I'll put everyone in danger and then the Enclave will blame me—"

Jem made a strange noise and I automatically glanced over at him, startled, until I realized that he had snorted. "Abby, if we were punished for putting others in danger, Will would be long banished by now. Everyone knows that you're inexperienced. In fact, Charlotte has instructed me to keep an eye on you."

"She has?" I asked, surprised.

He nodded. "I won't leave you, Abby. You don't need to worry about being alone."

I sighed but couldn't help smiling as well, pretending that he was speaking in general and not just about the raid on de Quincey's. Something about the way he was looking at me—gentle, and with trust in his eyes—made me feel braver, and I managed to pluck up the courage to tell him about the spiders I'd seen—first the one at the motel, and then the one at the Pandemonium Club, and then finally the one at Hyde Park. His expression didn't waver at all—it didn't crumple up in disdain or mockery as I was sure Will's would if I had told _him._ I finished with, "I don't want to tell Charlotte, because it seems like she's got enough on her plate as it is. I know it's silly…but I can't help worrying it's something more."

Jem was quiet for a moment, his eyes searching my face, before he said, "If you ever see the spiders again, tell someone right away—or, better yet, see if you are able to capture it. It might not be anything, but the fact that you saw it in your time suggests that there might be something more to the story."

I took a deep, shuddering breath—his words greatly reassured me, and it felt comforting finally getting them off my chest. "Yeah, I think that's what I'll do," I said slowly. "Thank you, Jem."

"Anytime, Abby," he said simply, and we both lapsed into silence then, each understanding the other without saying a word.


	12. Twelve

**Sorry about the delay! The next chapter will be up sooner.**

* * *

**"I**t looks as if it shall rain tonight," Gabriel Lightwood observed, lifting up the curtain in the carriage and curling his lip slightly in disgust. "Trust Charlotte to pick such a night when we shall have to lie in wait outside."

_Oh, so now she can control the weather too? _I thought bitterly, but didn't open my mouth. Since Jem, Gabriel and I were the three youngest Shadowhunters—it still felt horribly strange to think of myself as a _Shadowhunter_—a special carriage had been designated just for us, and we would be the last in the Clave to arrive at de Quincey's. Gabriel had complained bitterly, not only about being "treated like a child" as he had referred to it, but also about having to brave a carriage ride with Jem and I. Perhaps he had thought that we would talk too much for his liking. In a twist of irony, _he _was the one who was doing the majority of the talking. Jem and I had barely said two words at all.

Tessa, disguised as Camille, had been the first to leave along with Will. She had looked very pale but determined the entire day, her chin held high and a resolute spark in her eyes. Just before she had left, I'd tapped her on the shoulder and said, "Good luck tonight."

"Thank you, Abby," she'd replied, in her quiet but strong voice. "I do believe I shall need it."

"Perhaps I should wish _you _good luck as well," Will had sneered on his way out the door. "You're the one who is looking as if she is about to faint."

He was unfortunately right: I had been sick with worry the entire day, constructing worst-case scenarios in which I was somehow killed or got the rest of the Clave killed. Even though I knew, theoretically, how I was supposed to fight vampires, practice was still extremely different from theory. Jem had told me to stay close to him and he would help me if I needed it—but I had the uneasy feeling that I would end up fainting before we even reached de Quincey's house. To keep my mind off the upcoming raid, I instead thought about how Tessa was doing. She ought to be even more nervous than I was—after all, she was the key part of the plan and she would be with _Will_, of all people—but behind her unobtrusive, polite exterior I knew she was much stronger than everyone thought. Unlike me, she wasn't afraid to state her opinion, and she would stand up for herself if she thought she was being slighted. I had to admit she was very unlike the stereotypical girl from the Victorian era, and although she was still quite guarded around me—I had the feeling that she couldn't quite figure me out and thought me rather odd—I was beginning to think of her as a friend and confidante, and often wondered if she would ever discover I was from the future. Perhaps it was best to keep her in the dark until we knew each other a little better. She was still wary of the Institute and the residents inside, and for good reason.

"Abby," Jem said quietly from his seat next to me, and I jumped, my heart pounding now from attraction as well as fear. "You're shaking."

"I…I am?" I held up my hand, disappointed that the courage and strength runes I had drawn on my arms shortly before we left the Institute had already worn out, and was displeased to see that my fingers were trembling uncontrollably, as if I was cold. Alas, it was a hot, muggy June night and I couldn't use that excuse. Across the carriage, I could see Gabriel watching us with his eyes narrowed.

"Why are you scared?" he asked; I couldn't tell whether his tone was disdainful or not.

"Well, this is my first real mission," I explained, lowering my hand and lacing my fingers together, hyperaware of Jem's worried silver eyes on me. "Why _wouldn't _I be scared?"

Gabriel raised his chin slightly, looking down his nose at me. "Nephilim do not cower in the face of danger. Rather, they welcome it, as it means they are fulfilling their duties."

By the Angel, he was quoting directly from the _Codex. _"But it's natural to be afraid when you may be facing death," I tried to argue. Beside me, Jem gave a slight, almost imperceptible movement, and I instantly regretted my words. _Nice one, Abby._

"Is it?" Gabriel countered. He settled back in his seat, folding his arms and looking back out the window. "You are in for a surprise, little American girl, and I shouldn't like to be there when you finally figure out that this is not a childish game. However, I shouldn't be surprised—the Cartwrights are a family of fools. I see that the apple does not fall far from the tree."

"Gabriel," Jem admonished, and I was surprised to hear a hard edge in his tone—sweet, caring Jem, who never thought badly of anyone. "That is enough."

But this only served to make Gabriel look even more amused. "Standing up for her, are you, Carstairs? I suppose you must play the white knight for someone, since Herondale is not here at the moment."

"Will is perfectly capable of defending himself," Jem replied, folding his hands over his dragon cane—he'd told me that his father had it custom-made in Beijing. "I merely make peace between him and those unfortunate enough to cross his path."

In spite of myself, I snorted in quite an unladylike manner, covering my mouth with my hand to hide my grin. Gabriel's eyes were by now slits in his face as he glared at us, mistakenly assuming I was laughing at him. Jem looked surprised but gratified at my amusement. But before I could apologize for my sudden outburst, the carriage squealed to a sudden halt, jerking us all back into the plush velvet seats.

"We're here," Gabriel muttered with evident relief, and immediately yanked open the door, leaping out of it and disappearing into the darkness. The Lightwoods had lent one of their carriages for use during the night, and their driver did not help us out as Thomas did.

Jem climbed out of the carriage next, and gallantly offered his hand to me. I was still unused to the stiff formalities of this era, but I swallowed hard and took his hand anyway, hoping that my own had stopped quivering, as I hopped down from the carriage, grateful that I was in my comfortable training gear—which had now, I supposed, turned into my fighting gear.

He let go of my hand too soon, and I struggled to contain my irrational disappointment as he held up his witchlight, the glow illuminating the area in front of us. We were on a cobblestone street lined with sprawling manor houses, most painted a bright white and shining slightly even in the darkness.

"This is de Quincey's house?" I asked Jem as we made our way across the front lawn. Light spilled from the windows and several enormous pillars stood at its front; I wondered how Will and Tessa were faring inside and if they'd managed to find Magnus Bane yet.

Jem nodded, ushering me through a garden path around the side of the mansion. "It is rather grand, isn't it?" He tilted his head to look up at the manor; I had never seen anything quite like it. "The others should already be around the back."

He was right; I could see a circle of Clave members standing in the back garden next to a roaring fountain. The edges of the property were surrounded by tall hedges—to keep prying eyes away from any odd things the vampires might be doing, I supposed—and the grass was neatly trimmed.

Charlotte broke away from the rest of the Clave when she saw us. "Gabriel told us that you would be late," she said, as if it was all our fault that we had been forced to go in the last carriage. "How are you feeling?" she continued, and I waited for Jem to answer before I realized that the question had been directed at both of us.

"I'm really nervous," I admitted, wringing my hands together. "I just hope everything will go as planned."

"Please don't worry," she told me, putting a hand on my shoulder. "You'll have Jem with you, and I daresay that he'll do a better job of reassuring you than anyone else could."

Luckily it was dark enough so that neither of them could notice my blush. I took a short step away from both of them, looking instead to the Clave, and saw that they were staring at a pair of French doors that led into the house. Indistinct shapes were moving around inside, although I couldn't see them clearly. I wondered how powerful the glamours that concealed us were.

"So what do we do now?" I whispered to Jem, who was still standing beside me and looked quite relaxed.

"We wait," he said simply, smiling at me. "Hopefully Henry's Phosphor will work correctly. I daresay Will and Tessa shall figure out some way to alert us if it does not."

I glanced nervously back at the French doors; the shapes moving around inside had now disappeared. The lights shining from the windows were being turned off one by one, casting the back lawn in darkness. Evidently this wasn't supposed to happen, as the Shadowhunters were now muttering among themselves and most appeared to be readying for a fight, pulling out their seraph blades and drawing last-minute runes. I reached for my own seraph blade, closing my fingers around the hilt and trying to remember the techniques that Jem had taught me. _Remember, do not attack any vampires unless they attack you first, _he had told me. _They may look like humans, but most of them would kill you in an instant if they could._

I swallowed hard, tearing my gaze away from the doors and instead looked out across the backyard. The high-pitched hum of crickets was nearly deafening, and I could hear an owl hooting in the distance. This was so unlike San Francisco, where the only sounds at night were the yells of drunken teenagers stumbling down the street or the squealing of car brakes. Nevertheless, something about the foreign sounds was relaxing, and I let out a shaky breath as I tilted my head upward, toward the sky. It was a clear night, and the stars and planets were clearly visible, sprinkling the sky like glittering diamonds.

"By the Angel," I murmured in awe, "There are so _many _of them."

Jem followed my gaze, a soft chuckle escaping him. "Will they mysteriously disappear in the next century?" he whispered so that the Clave couldn't hear him.

I shook my head. "It's just…I live in the city, and the light blocks out most of them. When I was little I used to lie on a blanket in the backyard and try to figure out which ones they were. I think that one," I pointed to a bright speck just over our heads, "is Venus, and then that's the North Star. There is Sirius—the dog star—and the constellations…" I trailed off, trying to put my sudden familiarity into words. "It's comforting. I recognize them from my time, and perhaps it's silly, but it makes me feel as if home isn't so far away after all."

"It is rather comforting," Jem replied. "No matter what is happening on Earth, the stars endure." His voice sounded faraway as well, and I supposed that he was thinking about his life in Shanghai. I imagined Jem as a little boy, with dark hair and dark eyes, lying on the ground staring up at the same stars as I would over a century later, and feeling reassured by their steady light.

We both slowly looked down at the same moment, and our eyes locked as we shared a smile. Again, I felt a sense of kinship that I had never felt with anybody else before. Jem, I realized, was just as comforting as the stars to me. With his easy smile and his kind eyes, he gave off a steady light of his own that seemed to brighten whenever he walked into the room. _Oh God, _I thought, _I'm beginning to sound poetic. What has gotten into me? I hate poetry. Is this what having a crush does to you?_

"Abby!" I heard a voice call from the huddled group of the Clave, and a figure broke off from the rest to walk over to me. "How are you faring?"

I recognized Maxwell Cartwright right away. His blond hair shone even in the dim light, and his brown eyes were sparkling. I wondered what his relation was to me—a great-great-grandfather, perhaps? I would have to ask Mom about Dad's family tree when I got back home. I was sure that she still had it, hidden away in her box of old mementos.

"I'm doing all right," I told him, trying to smile. "A bit nervous, but apparently that's to be expected."

Maxwell chuckled. "Of course it is, darling. I would be surprised if you _weren't _nervous!" He then turned to Jem, who was polite as ever. "Hullo, Carstairs. How are you feeling?" Maxwell sounded hushed, as if he was speaking at someone's bedside.

_He's not an invalid, _I thought angrily. But Jem had already replied: "I am quite well, thank you."

"Excellent, excellent!" Maxwell sounded rather pompous, rubbing his hands together in apparent eagerness. "Bit warm tonight, isn't it?"

"Yes," I agreed, shooting a pointed glance at Gabriel. "Luckily it hasn't started raining."

"Oh, that would be _a disaster!"_ Maxwell's eyebrows shot up in horror, and I laughed; he was so expressive that it wasn't a struggle at all to guess what he was thinking.

Jem gently touched my arm, and I started at his touch. "I think something's happening," he said in a low voice, and I automatically looked toward the doors. The house was now cast in darkness, but I could hear dim voices emanating from inside. The rest of the Clave was listening as well, most already having a seraph blade at the ready—

And then there was a sudden flare of orange light and the French doors burst open, a mass of shrieking vampires clawing their way out. I began to step aside so I wouldn't get trampled, but Jem's hand now closed firmly over my arm. "You can do it, Abby," he murmured into my ear as Maxwell let out a battle cry and began to charge toward them. "We just need to herd them back into the house. Follow my lead." And after a quick smile at me, he hurried in the direction Maxwell had gone. The Shadowhunters were now all moving as one huge, black-clad group, forcing the vampires back into the house.

I pulled my seraph blade out of my pocket and whispered "_Telantes_", the first angel's name that came to my mind, and with a bright burst of white light the blade was unsheathed, sparkling in the glow of the flames that were currently raging inside the house. Moving as a group, we slowly pushed the line of vampires back into the doors. I was squashed against Jem's shoulder on one side and Gabriel's on the other, but we were too busy concentrating to notice the space—or lack thereof.

With an ear-splitting crash, the glass on the elegant doors shattered as the Shadowhunters surged through it. My nose was suddenly assaulted by a great waft of smoke, and I threw up my arm and coughed, trying to see inside the room. The initial fire appeared to have been tamed, but I could see several piles of ash scattered around my feet, and my stomach rolled as I realized they were the remains of vampires who hadn't been so lucky.

When the smoke finally cleared, I noticed that we were standing in a large, low-ceilinged room that appeared to be some sort of theater. Hundreds of plush red velvet chairs lined the floor, and at the front of the room stood an elevated stage, on which a blond man was shackled to a chair, his head drooping. Across the room I could see Will, holding his seraph blade and his clothes splattered with blood. Even from this distance I could see his blue eyes sparking with what looked like rage, and several feet away from him stood Camille—Tessa—who resembled a deer in headlights. Her head was whipping back and forth between us and the man, who I assumed was a mundane, sitting in the chair, and I wondered what had happened.

By now, the Clave had managed to form a circle around the remaining vampires, preventing them from escaping. At the very front of the group stood a tall, silver-haired vampire whom I assumed was de Quincey. His teeth were bared, his fangs exposed, and for the first time I understood why Shadowhunters disliked Downworlders. Although he was human in appearance, he radiated a strange aura that I couldn't understand. It was as if a frozen corpse had been reanimated, something that wasn't quite _normal_. Frankly, vampires set me on edge more than anything else. I could hear my teeth chattering, and wondered whether it was from fear or cold. I suddenly understood what Tessa had meant about Camille being icy.

"Get ready, Shadowhunters," a low but attractive voice sounded from behind me. Déjà vu hit me like a train, and I stupidly turned my back on the vampires to whirl around, already feeling my eyes pop open. A man had somehow snuck up behind us—if he could even be called a man. He had greenish-gold eyes, vertical and slit-pupilled like a cat's, brown-skinned and wearing a ruffled coat that looked like something straight out of my history books. A huge diamond glittered in his ear, and he carried a walking-stick encrusted with diamonds. But it wasn't his outlandish appearance that made me stare: it was inherent familiarity, and I knew exactly where I'd seen him before. "Magnus Bane," I said, startled. His cat's eyes flickered toward me, and he raised one arched eyebrow. But I was too busy reminiscing to elaborate.

I'd been ten or eleven at the time, before I had learned about the Shadow World. Mom and I had been running errands and were waiting to hop on a streetcar when I'd lost track of her and after a moment of panicking, had spotted her talking to the strangest man I had ever seen. He had worn a pair of flamboyant rainbow-colored pants, as was the seventies fashion, and at first I'd wondered if he'd been an Elvis impersonator. There had been a brown-haired girl with him too, although I couldn't remember her face. "Mom!" I'd called, and the three of them had turned toward me before she'd blocked my view, hurrying toward me as if she hadn't disappeared at all. The two strangers had melted away into the crowd as quickly as they'd appeared. "That man looked funny," I'd remarked later. "Who is he?"

"Magnus Bane," Mom had said automatically, and had immediately clapped her hand over her mouth as if she'd regretted her words. "He was a…friend of your father's."

"Of Daddy's?" I'd echoed, but she had quickly fallen silent, refusing to answer any more of my questions.

Now I snapped back to the present, my eyes refocusing on the warlock standing in front of me. How had he known my father? Why was he talking to my mother? And who was the girl who had been with him?

But now he was no longer waiting for my answer; like the rest of the Clave, he had forgotten about me already and was now concentrating on the circle of vampires, which was probably a wise decision. De Quincey appeared to be arguing with Benedict Lightwood, and it didn't take me long to get the gist of the conversation: "… Otherwise, there will be no mercy," Benedict was saying, an ugly smirk on his face. Surely the vampires hadn't taken too kindly to a group of Shadowhunters storming in on their breaking of Covenant law.

A red-haired vampire stepped to the front of the crowd. He looked even angrier than Benedict and I could hear the repressed rage in his voice as he replied, "If we needed any further proof that the Nephilim have never meant their promises of peace, here it is. Dare to attack us, Shadowhunters, and you'll have a war on your hands!"

"Then let the war begin here," Benedict said quietly, and flung a blade at de Quincey.

And then everything happened very fast. The red-haired vampire threw himself in front of de Quincey, exploding in a shower of ash and blood, and the Shadowhunters sprang into action, attacking the vampires with a dizzying speed. I could only stand there for a moment, open-mouthed, as they began to battle the vampires, the glint of seraph blades mixed with dark red blood. Magnus Bane had disappeared, and I couldn't say I blamed him. Part of me shuddered with revulsion at the sight, but another part seemed to have shut off entirely, allowing me to witness the carnage as easily as if I were watching a movie. Somehow I was able to detach myself—

Something hit me hard across the face and I felt my legs give out as I collapsed, the pain shooting through my entire body. _Watch your back, Abby, _I remembered Jem's countless warnings in the training room, and I immediately turned my fall into a roll, leaping to my feet and facing the dark-haired vampire who had just attacked me. Blood poured from his mouth—he was already wounded—and his hands were reaching out for me, as if imagining closing them around my throat. _They're not human, _I told myself, and threw my seraph blade directly at his chest, watching in horrified fascination as he collapsed to the ground in a pool of blood, his clothes the only thing to signify that he had even been existent in the first place.

"Excellent shot," I heard Jem say in my ear as I snatched up my seraph blade. He looked impressed, and I felt my heart swell up with pride, although I couldn't ignore the fact that I had just killed someone, regardless of the fact that they were a vampire or not. And then I saw a white figure moving around behind Jem, and my smile disappeared. "Jem, watch your back!" I called, and he whirled around with an unbelievable speed, prepared to fight.

Everything was chaos. Through the smoke and moving bodies, I could see Tessa, still disguised as Camille, kneeling down next to the mundane in the chair. Will was sprinting across the room, apparently in an effort to reach her, and Jem was battling the next vampire. Charlotte and Henry were both preoccupied, Henry looking more intent than I had ever seen him, and Maxwell had a huge grin on his face as he dispatched a female vampire with seemingly no effort.

"_Abby, look out!_" I heard a male voice yell, and saw Will staring at me from across the room just as de Quincey slammed into me. I hit the floor hard and lost my grip on the seraph blade, dimly seeing it roll away as the vampire pinned me to the ground, one hand grasping my upper arm so tightly that I could feel it losing circulation.

"New, are you?" he sneered, and I could see his teeth were stained with blood. "I could tell by your vacant expression. But I will not kill you yet, little Shadowhunter. I have more important matters at the moment." Before I could answer, he had yanked my arm backward, and I heard a loud crack at the same time as blazing pain shot through it. I screamed, my eyes streaming with tears as de Quincey let go of me and rushed toward the stage where Tessa was still sitting, unaware that he was heading straight for her.

Through the agony, I saw Jem kneel down beside me, his silver eyes full of worry. I opened my mouth to tell him not to worry about me, to continue fighting, but instead of speaking I accidentally tried to move my broken arm, and the world briefly disappeared from around me as I properly fainted for the first time in my life.

* * *

When I came to again, I was propped against the wall with Jem still beside me. He was gently cradling my arm and lightly drawing an _iratze _on it that astonishingly seemed to have numbed the pain, although it was still lying at an awkward angle. His eyes fluttered up to meet mine and he smiled when I saw I was awake. "You did brilliantly, Abby," he praised. "Don't worry about your arm—it will heal in no time."

"Is it all over?" I asked, staring around the destroyed room. The Shadowhunters all appeared to be cleaning up after the carnage—some were drawing _iratzes _on each other and others gathering up the piles of ashes. Tessa appeared to desperately be trying to unshackle the chained man from the chair, who was still unconscious. Will stood over her, looking extremely displeased.

Jem nodded in response to my question. "De Quincey managed to escape, unfortunately," he told me. "But he was the only vampire who did." Following my gaze, he added in a lower voice, "That's Nathaniel. Apparently Tessa refused to leave him when Will told her to—I don't blame her. Henry's Phosphor malfunctioned." He gave a wry grin.

The blond man moaned and raised his head slightly; I wasn't surprised in the least to see that it was indeed the man at the Pandemonium Club. Well, as long as he didn't recognize me, I didn't see the need to tell anyone else about it. "Really," I said dryly, leaning my head back against the wall and taking my seraph blade from Jem, who had helpfully retrieved it. "How…fascinating."

Through my half-closed eyes, I could see Will walking over toward us. His place on the stage had been replaced by Charlotte, who along with Tessa was fussing over Nathaniel. "You bit de Quincey," Jem called over to Will, who was wiping his bloody face with his sleeve. "You fool. He's a _vampire. _You know what it means to bite a vampire."

Will didn't look upset in the least. "I had no choice. He was choking me."

"I know," Jem sighed, seeming exasperated. "But really, Will. _Again?_"

* * *

Something about the _iratze _Jem had drawn on my arm possessed the unfortunate side effect of exhaustion and confusion, and I was nearly unconscious by the time we headed back out to the carriages. It was decided that Tessa and Nathaniel would ride in Charlotte and Henry's carriage, while Jem, Will and I would take a smaller carriage that the Lightwoods had lent to us. The rest of the Enclave were staying back to finish cleaning up de Quincey's now ruined house and to look for more evidence of the vampires' crimes.

My arm was still hanging limply at my side, and although the pain was mostly gone it still felt stiff and sore, as if I hadn't moved it in days. I stumbled after Jem and Will, cradling my arm in my uninjured hand and trying not to wince; I'd never seen a Shadowhunter betray any sign of discomfort.

Even the night air, which had dropped at least ten degrees in the past hour, didn't help wake me up. Since Will was still covered in blood, Thomas made him wait outside while he went to fetch him a cloth. Before he left, Thomas gallantly helped me up into the carriage, where I slid next to Jem, very aware that it was much smaller than the Institute carriage and two people could barely fit side by side. Now that I was so close to him, I could notice aspects of his appearance I couldn't in the dim light of the house: he seemed healthier than I had ever seen him, with bright eyes and flushed cheeks. He was thrumming with energy, something I had only previously seen before in Will, and if I hadn't known better I would have guessed he was perfectly healthy.

"I daresay even Will should be impressed with you," he said lightly, teasingly. "You did splendidly back there, Abby. I'm proud of you."

I could already feel myself blushing. "It's you who taught me everything. No…_you _were amazing. I just…I didn't expect that you were a…that you could fight like that. I mean…you never struck me as the type to have bloodlust." I thought of his mild and thoughtful demeanor, his tenderness when handling his violin…but then the utter intent on his face as he'd attacked the vampires, moving as fast as a bullet and throwing his seraph blade, a determined look in his eyes.

Jem regarded me thoughtfully. "Above all, I am a Shadowhunter. Appearances are deceiving. You hardly seem the type to be right in the middle of battles, either, but it seemed to come almost naturally to you."

I pursed my lips, considering his words. "I suppose you're right. I still feel horrible that I killed that vampire. I mean, I know that he would have killed me without even blinking…"

"The first one is always the worst," Jem replied. "It becomes easier in time."

I yawned hugely and curled up in the limited space that the seat allowed me, trying to get into a comfortable position, since it was a fairly long ride back to the Institute and with my current state I knew I would fall asleep before then. But my endeavours failed, and I sprawled out across the seat, my head landing on Jem's shoulder. "Oh, sorry," I apologized, hoping he couldn't hear the sudden catch in my voice.

"It's all right," he assured me, and I could have sworn I heard embarrassment in his voice as well. "The carriage is hardly large enough for two people, let alone three."

I wished my heart would slow down, wondering why it was beating so fast, until I realized that it wasn't my heart but Jem's, pounding away in his chest. The _yin fen _must possess some sort of quality that made it quicken one's heartbeat.

"Why did you seem so surprised when you saw Magnus?" Jem asked me after a short silence. Leaning against him wasn't particularly comfortable—his bones were sharp and prominent, and dug uncomfortably into my ear, but then again, his body heat was warm and steady, and it was the closest I could get to him without it encroaching into romantic territory.

"I recognized him," I admitted. "I saw him in…1973, I think it was. My mother was speaking to him…" Trailing off, I wondered if I should tell him about the girl who had been with him, but loud voices suddenly drifted up to the carriage, and Jem stiffened instantly. I recognized Gabriel Lightwood and Will at once.

"I just wondered if perhaps you have ever had enough," Gabriel was saying, sounding insolent as usual.

"Enough of what?" Will was perfectly calm.

"Enough of behaving as you do."

"Oh, I can never get enough." Even though I couldn't see his face, the smirk in his voice was evident. "Which, incidentally, is what your sister said to me when—"

Jem suddenly threw open the carriage door and, leaning down, literally yanked Will inside, slamming the door behind him and leaving Gabriel staring open-mouthed at him. At the same time, I heard Thomas's whip and the clop of the horses' hooves as the carriage started forward. Whatever spell there had been briefly between Jem and I was broken. "What were you thinking?" the silver-haired boy asked furiously, glaring at Will.

But I didn't particularly care what Will Herondale was thinking at any given time. I managed to tune out his answer with relative ease and instead raised my eyes to the side of Jem's face. His gear was stained with dried vampire blood and there was a cut on the side of his cheek, but he appeared otherwise unscathed. I had a sudden vision of Charlotte instructing me to tend to his wounds, and of course I would have to take his clothes off if I wanted to be absolutely sure he wasn't hurt elsewhere—

And then I heard two dreaded words coming out of Jem's mouth, interrupting my rather improper, racy fantasy: two words that didn't mean much apart, but when put together they were disastrous: _Tessa _and _pretty_. My heart immediately sank all the way to my feet, my momentary dream disappearing with it. So Jem thought Tessa was pretty—of course he did. Of course, I hadn't heard his entire sentence, but I was sure that I could guess fairly easily what it had been. So I decided to stupidly jump into the conversation—after all, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em, right?

"Tessa's very pretty," I mumbled, feeling my eyes flutter closed. My arm still ached dully, and whatever _iratze _Jem had drawn on me was making me feel content and sleepy.

Both Will and Jem turned toward me, as if they had both suddenly realized I was still present. Will smirked at me, although something else sparked in his blue eyes when he looked back and forth between Jem and I that I couldn't quite place. It was almost something like…worry? But even as I tried to decipher it, he was back to his normally cruel, uncaring self again. "Good evening, future girl," he said, his tone already laced with sarcasm. "I suppose recent events must have been _exhausting _for you. It takes a lot of energy to kill just one vampire. Heaven knows James and I are about ready to pass out."

I couldn't muster up the energy to scowl at him, but luckily Jem did that for me. "The _iratze _I used on her arm stops the pain, but it does make one very tired. Besides, runes work slightly differently on her since she is still such a new Shadowhunter. Charlotte told me to guard her and keep her out of the action as much as I could."

Will's smirk only widened. "I daresay it would be disastrous if you were to be killed a century before you were even born. Heaven only knows what that would do to your future self!"

"Stop it," I managed to mumble. "It's not my fault that de Quincey attacked me. He was trying to get to Tessa, and I was in the way."

"Speaking of Tessa, she did quite a commendable job tonight. Don't you agree, Will?" Jem asked, but Will was too busy staring at his own reflection in the window, seeming lost in thought. When there was no answer, I felt rather than heard Jem sigh slightly and add, "We needn't talk about Tessa if you don't want to, you know."

"It's not Tessa," Will replied. "One of the vampires had a human servant who rushed me. I killed him without thinking about it. He was just a stupid human boy, and I killed him."

Jem was silent for a minute before he said, "He was a darkling. He was Turning. It would have been a matter of time."

"He was just a boy," Will repeated. "I'm going to get drunk when we get home. I think I'm going to have to."

"No, you won't," Jem said firmly. "You know exactly what will happen when we get home."

The fact that Will was showing remorse over killing a boy—however beyond saving he was—showed that he had some sort of conscience, however small, and with a frown I was forced to re-evaluate his character. I'd always thought that Jem had been his missing integrity, but perhaps Will wasn't as heartless as I thought he was. Feeling a tiny smile curve my mouth, I closed my eyes and let the lull of the carriage begin to rock me to sleep.

"What are you smiling about, future girl?" I dimly heard Will demand. "Surely you cannot be _that _proud of yourself. I will admit that was a good throw, but it would have been more impressive had you taken out more vampires."

But for once, I didn't let his words bother me. In the dream world I was slowly sinking into, it was just Jem and I in the carriage, with no talk of Will or Tessa or vampires. My heart was swelling in a quiet joy, seeming as if it was about to burst, and I wondered if this was what happiness felt like.


	13. Thirteen

**I know it might seem like the story is moving slowly, but I can assure you that it won't stay this way forever. I also want to apologize for all the rehashed dialogue in the earlier chapters-I want the fic to follow more or less the same plot as the books, and I chose to write Abby in first person so the reader will hopefully feel like she's adding a fresh perspective to the situation.**

**Also, I'm estimating that the story is going to have around 40 chapters. Abby is going to be eventually sent back to her own time (I don't think that's much of a spoiler) and the last five or so chapters are going to take place in 1978, where her mother, grandmother, Tessa, and Brother Zachariah will all appear.**

* * *

**M**y dreams that night were intense and lifelike, almost crossing the line into fever dreams. I was dimly aware that I was asleep, sometimes catching flashes of my darkened room, but most of the time I was lost in an entirely different world.

I was flat-out sprinting across an unfamiliar grassy plain, but I had no idea what I was running _from_. All I knew was that I was being pursued by something that wished to kill me at any cost, and I couldn't afford to slow down.

"Abby!" I heard a voice call from across the field, and I could see someone standing at the edge of the meadow. I recognized Jem's silver hair and slight build right away. Heedless of the danger that was fast approaching, I changed course and ran to Jem instead. He was holding out his arms, and I ran right into them, burying my face into his shoulder and pulling him as close to me as I could. His body heat was burning into mine, and I felt his lips gently brush the top of my head—

But he suddenly spun me around, shoving me away from him as Will had pushed me away the evening I'd first encountered them. I gasped in surprise, already prepared to ask what I had done wrong, when my eyes fell on a large brown spider hidden in the grass next to my feet. I knew instinctively that it was what had been chasing me, and I leapt back as it suddenly exploded into the enormous Greater Demon that was tracking me at the motel.

I tensed for an impact, waiting for death—or, indeed, just to be woken up, for some small part of me knew that I was dreaming—but when none came, I cautiously sat up, immediately looking for Jem. But there were now two gravestones in the spot where he had been standing. The inscriptions on them clearly read _Will Herondale _and _Jem Carstairs. _"No!" I gasped, falling to my knees in front of Jem's grave. "I didn't even get to tell you that I've fallen for you—and I would even put up with Will if it meant I would get to see you again—"

But the gravestones sat quietly in the grass, and feeling half-mad, I began to scrabble at the dirt, as if I was somehow trying to dig up their bodies.

"There's no use, Abby."

I froze, staring blankly down at the ground. "Tessa?" I asked. "What—what are you doing here?"

She knelt down beside me, her skirts spread out across the ground, and put a small, soft hand on my shoulder. Her grey eyes were surprisingly warm. "The same reason you are. I loved him," she said simply, although I couldn't be sure whether she was talking about Will, Jem, or both of them. "You are lucky, Abby. One day you will die, and you will see him again. But I—I have eternity." A stricken expression crossed her face, and it was in that moment I realized that _she _had been the girl I'd seen with Magnus. It was _Tessa._

"But surely there are ways of becoming mortal," I protested, wondering how the focus of my dream had suddenly switched from me to her.

Tessa shook her head slowly, sadly. "There is a terrible price to pay for it. Immortality is a curse, not a blessing. And you have even less time to spend with the people you love than I do. Sooner or later Henry will invent the Portal, and you will have to bid good-bye to Jem. Surely you do not have time to waste."

"Wait," I gasped. "How do you know that Henry is trying to invent a Portal? Do you know where—when I'm from?"

But Tessa didn't answer me. She reached out instead and gently traced the words on the gravestones; first Will's, then Jem's. "Tessa?" I asked, but this time she did not even look at me. A strange mist was beginning to whirl past us, and she briefly disappeared from my vision. When her silhouette next focused, she was no longer wearing a puffy Victorian dress but a pair of tightly-fitting jeans and a short-sleeved shirt. Her dark brown hair tumbled down her back and she wore a pair of heels, but her face was still unchanged, untouched. Now I realized that there was a third grave present, standing beside Jem's. I didn't need to move any closer to see what it said:

_Abby Cartwright._

* * *

I shot straight up in bed, my heart thumping frantically and a scream at the ready, although mercifully it hadn't yet escaped my throat. Instead of a stark gravestone staring back at me, there were only the now-familiar outlines of the furniture in my bedroom at the Institute, a dull fire burning in the grate although it was June. That must have been the reason why my hair was soaked with sweat and perspiration dotted my brow.

But even as I settled back into bed, struggling to push the nightmare out of my mind, I could see that a weak purple light was beginning to shine in through the cracks in the curtains, and I could hear quiet footsteps walking down the hallway outside. It must be nearly morning.

When I adjusted my position in bed, rolling on to my other side, I noticed that my broken arm was bandaged up in a sling, though I couldn't remember anyone administering it to me. In fact, I couldn't remember anything after the carriage ride back from de Quincey's. Someone must have carried me up to my room and dressed me into my nightgown. A light flush crossed my cheeks as I thought of Jem, but in all likeliness it had been Sophie who had offered to help.

I was just about to close my eyes again and drift off into hopefully much more pleasant dreams when something stirred in the armchair next to my bed, and I sat up again, my mouth falling open as I realized that _Jem _was curled up in the chair in a deep slumber, his cane resting against the arm of the chair. He appeared to be lost in sleep but his hands were moving slightly, as if he was dreaming about playing the violin. What was he doing _here? _He was still in his fighting gear and I could see splotches of blood on his skin left over from the battle with the vampires.

"Jem?" I whispered softly, knowing that he was a light sleeper. But he didn't open his eyes, and I wondered if I should wake him.

The footsteps I had heard outside in the corridor came to a stop and a moment later there was a soft knock at the door. I glanced over at Jem, but he didn't so much as move an inch.

"Come in," I said quietly, hoping they would be able to hear me, and a moment later Sophie stepped in, carrying a breakfast tray. Her eyes immediately went over to Jem, and there was no mistaking the brief flash of pain that was clearly visible on her face.

But she was far too poised and professional to run out of the room, as I probably would have done, and instead walked calmly over to the table and placed the tray on it. "Good morning, Miss Abby," she said bravely. "I see that Master Jem is still here."

"Still here?" I asked. "You mean he's been here all night?"

She nodded. "He came in just before bed and said he wanted to make sure you were all right. I do not think he meant to fall asleep."

We both looked over at him, and I whispered, "I'm sorry, Sophie. I'm sure he would have done the same for you."

"Perhaps," she said after a short silence, and I was sure that she knew I was aware of her feelings for Jem.

"I have no chance with him, Sophie," I said quietly. "He'd never look at me when someone as pretty as you is around. I'm as plain as my taste in clothing. Besides, I'll eventually have to go back to my own time. I don't belong here and I…I don't belong with Jem."

Sophie pursed her lips, looking unconvinced. "You might find yourself wrong about that, miss."

I sank back into my pillows, feeling deflated. What did she mean? Was she doubting that I would ever get back to 1978? Henry hadn't mentioned anything about making progress on a Portal to me in days, and I wondered if Sophie knew something I didn't. Was that why Charlotte was letting me fight, because she knew that it wouldn't matter if I was injured or killed in battle because I would never be getting back to my own time anyway? "Sophie—" I began, but as I struggled to think of the correct way to phrase my question, I heard someone else walking down the corridor, their footfalls heavier and less recognizable than Sophie's. This time there was a loud, sharp knock on my door.

When Sophie opened it, she stepped back to reveal Will, dressed casually and looking uncaring as usual, but there was something harsh about the set of his mouth and the look in his eyes, as if he was trying very hard not to think about something. "I was just looking for Jem, and when he wasn't in his room, I should think it only logical that he would be in yours, future girl," he said, but now he was just speaking matter-of-factly, with no teasing tone at all in his voice.

"What on earth do you mean?" Sophie asked him, forgoing any attempt at civility.

Will didn't even look at her as he replied, "I think that shall be all, Sophie." With one last glance at Jem and I, she left the room, and I hoped she saw my apologetic look as she closed the door.

"Far be it from me to make any assumptions about etiquette, but isn't this most improper?" I adopted a snooty English accent, with some lame hope that I would be able to make him laugh. "Two gentlemen in a young lady's bedroom while she is in her nightclothes."

But Will didn't even smirk. "I shouldn't think that it's often happened to you." Leaving me to ponder whether it had been an intentional insult or not, he walked over to Jem and shook him by the arm surprisingly gently. "Get up, James. I require your assistance with an important matter."

"What matter?" I dared to ask, and wasn't surprised when Will didn't answer. I guessed that it was usually someone by Jem's bedside rather than him by someone else's bedside.

Jem slowly opened his eyes, looking dazed for a second. "Will?" he asked, staring at his _parabatai_.

"I take it Abby ordered you out of her bed?" Will asked cuttingly.

"He was never _in _my bed!" I protested. "I didn't even know he was here until I woke up—"

Jem's head immediately snapped over to me, and I could see embarrassment cross his face. "By the Angel, Abby! I am so sorry. I did not mean to fall asleep. I just wished to make sure that you were all right…" His words grew even less coherent as he trailed off, his face now bright red. At least his shame meant that he was healthy—or rather, as healthy as he _could _be with his illness—and he couldn't seem to meet my gaze.

"I'm fine, Jem," I told him, smiling as broadly as I could. It was a lie—my arm was still sore and my stomach churned every time I thought about how I had killed that vampire—but it wouldn't do to betray any sign of weakness in front of him or especially Will.

"Come _on_, James," Will said impatiently, rising from the chair and starting toward the door. "Future girl can survive without you for the day. I desperately require your sound advice."

Jem rolled his eyes upward, as if asking for divine aid in handling Will, and flashed me another shy smile as he followed Will out of the room.

* * *

Charlotte came in to check on me later that morning, telling me that I could stay in bed for the rest of the day and let my arm heal, although I knew that she was far too preoccupied with everything else that was going on to spend much time on me. So, faced with a day of relative freedom, I had my breakfast and took a long, luxurious bath, leaning my head back against the tub and trying not to think about anything other than relaxation. When the water began to grow cold, I finally climbed out and let Sophie help me into a periwinkle blue dress that was, for once, not borrowed from Jessamine.

We didn't speak much at first; I could tell she was still upset about finding Jem in my room, and I had no idea how to broach the topic with her. "Sophie," I finally said as she was brushing my hair, "I want to apologize. I know how you feel about Jem, and please let me be the first to say that I understand completely. He is the most decent, compassionate person I have ever met."

"He is unlike anyone else," Sophie agreed. Our eyes met in the mirror, and she paused for a moment, as if trying to decide whether to tell me something or not. "My previous master was not so unique. When he did not get what he wanted…" Her hand reached up to brush her scar, and with a jolt I understood why Sophie hated Will so much: he reminded her of the family she had served before she had come to the Institute. The man who had scarred her must have been similar to Will. "Charlotte was incredibly generous for allowing me to work at the Institute."

"I don't think she was being generous," I replied softly. "I think she was just doing the right thing. You are every bit as decent as Jem is, Sophie, and I cannot think of anyone who deserves him better than you."

She smiled sadly, putting the brush down and stepping back. "Perhaps that is true, miss, but I am certainly not the one that he deserves."

* * *

After Sophie had left, I found that, for once, I was not craving solitude. I didn't wish to be in my own mind at the moment—there were too many things swirling around in my brain, from my conflicted feelings about Jem to the realization that I would see Tessa in the future to my mingled guilt and strange vindictiveness about killing that stupid nameless vampire…it was the first time I had ever not wanted to live in my own mind.

I thought briefly about going to the music room, but I could hardly play the piano with only one hand, and there was a high chance I would run into Will if I went to the library…so I settled for flipping through Dad's journal again. I hadn't touched it in days, and I'd found myself glancing at the picture of us less often than I used to. When I'd first arrived at the Institute, they had been my only links to my previous life. Now I was fast discovering that my time here was slowly but surely dissolving into a completely different scenario—in fact, I didn't feel much like _Abby _anymore. When Andrew Lightwood had told me that it was impossible to turn back after one became a Shadowhunter, I'd secretly wondered how exaggerated he was being. Now I was learning firsthand that every word he had spoken had been the truth. Being a Shadowhunter was changing me. Perhaps it was the runes, the Vows, or even my newfound, although still severely limited, training. I was more in shape than I had ever been in my life.

And now, as I read through my father's journal, I began to imagine that there carried some trace, however miniscule, of regret that he'd had to leave the Clave to become a mundane. Reading between the lines, I could understand that he found his new life with Mom and I less eventful than he was used to, and I almost sympathized with him. There was certainly no shortage of excitement when one fought demons for a living. I'd never before thought about the number of times he had mentioned his wish that he could see his family and Marcus, his former _parabatai, _again. As I came to the last entry, I wished I knew if he had ever managed to contact Brother Zachariah, whoever he was, and asked to speak to his loved ones again. I couldn't imagine any Silent Brother allowing such a thing to happen, but then again I was constantly being reminded of just how little I knew about the Shadow World. As I closed the journal for the countless time, I wondered how Marcus and my grandmother Abigail had reacted to Dad's death. Mom certainly hadn't taken it well—though she'd only known my father for two years and he had been killed when she was just eighteen, she hadn't so much as looked at another man romantically to my knowledge, despite being in her early thirties. "Your dad was the only one for me, Abby," she'd often said to me, a wistful look in her eyes. "I don't think I'm going to find anyone else."

Now, comparing her statement with my own feelings for Jem, I found I could sympathize with her for what was probably the very first time. I couldn't imagine going back to the future and finding another boy without constantly comparing him to Jem—but on the other hand, Mom hadn't known Dad was going to be killed. Even if I _did _somehow enter into a relationship with Jem for whatever reasons, I knew ahead of time that he was going to die. Was that fair to him, since he would probably think that I was just doing it out of pity? Was that fair to _me_, knowing I would be constantly wondering if he just wanted to experience romance before his death and I was the only one available?

Oh, well, I supposed there was always Tessa. I couldn't stop the bitter edge to my thoughts as I remembered the reverence in Jem's voice when he'd spoken about her the previous night, or his half-grin whenever they shared a secret joke.

As if she had been eavesdropping on my thoughts—I wouldn't be surprised if she had—there was, for the fourth time that day, a knock on my bedroom door. _I'm certainly popular now, _I thought sarcastically, but stood up and went over to the door.

Lo and behold, the girl I'd just been thinking not-so-nicely about was standing right there, her hands clasped behind her and her grey eyes wide. "Hello, Abby," she said. "Sophie told me that you had injured your arm last night, and I wanted to make sure you were feeling better."

Damn it, was she psychic or something? She knew exactly what to say to make me feel guilty. "Um, thanks," I said, opening the door wider and stepping aside. "Why don't you come in?" _So I won't be staring at Jem's door the entire time._

Luckily, Tessa walked in and perched on the same chair that Jem had been sleeping in. Her brown hair was pulled up in its usual bun and she was wearing one of the dresses that she had bought on our outing with Jessamine. "I would have visited sooner, but I only awoke an hour ago," she explained as I sat on the edge of my bed across from her. "It was a rather…eventful night."

I nodded in agreement. "How is Nathaniel?" I inquired politely. "Charlotte mentioned he was beginning to recover."

"I hope so," Tessa said worriedly, and I noticed her hand reach for her clockwork angel necklace, as if it was an unconscious gesture of comfort. "Jessamine is taking care of him."

"_Jessamine?_"

"Yes." Tessa's lips quirked at my astonishment. "She appears to be quite…fascinated with him." Her tone of voice made it clear that she did not understand the other girl at all.

"Well," I replied, scrambling for something witty to say, "I suppose it is only fair that I can tease her about that now, as she earlier teased me."

Tessa's eyes widened slightly. "Ah. I do recall her mentioning that you…care for Jem."

I had to look away, unable to meet her stare. "Please don't tell anyone about this. I've only just recently realized it, and I'm unbelievably upset that Jessamine has noticed."

"I would not dream of it," she said, and something in her voice made me believe that she was sincere.

"And I can never even tell Jem himself, because it's impossible for us to, well, have any sort of relationship or…or courtship. He's better off with Sophie." Some part of me was aware that I was babbling, but it felt so _good _to talk to someone about it, as if a huge, heavy weight had just been lifted off my chest.

Tessa's brows furrowed and she leaned forward slightly, her bright eyes catching mine and holding me in place. "Why do you believe that? Surely you and Jem would make quite an attractive couple. You are both extraordinarily helpful and courteous."

"I am?" I stuttered. "But, um, let's just say that there are certain extenuating circumstances to my situation. You see…" _Tell her now, Abby. You have nothing to lose, and besides, Jem has probably told her about his illness anyway. Why are you the only one keeping secrets? She's going to find out sooner or later. _"I'm…it's kind of a funny story, actually, but…oh, what am I saying? It's not a funny story unless your name is Will Herondale." I let out a long breath and, staring over at my purse, I blurted out, "I'm from the future."

Whatever Tessa had expected me to say, it was obviously not this. She stared at me for a full thirty seconds, her mouth slightly open as if she had forgotten what her answer would be. "The…the _future?_" she asked in a strangled voice.

"Yeah. You've probably realized that I act a bit strange from time to time. I'm from the year 1978. Remember when I was telling you about the Golden Gate Bridge? It won't exist for another sixty years. Anyway, I was somehow transported here by a Portal, which sadly hasn't been invented yet, and Charlotte is allowing me to train as a Shadowhunter while Henry is trying to invent a Portal himself." I gave her a tiny smile when I was finished, as if that would somehow lessen the utter shock of being told that someone you had previously thought was merely eccentric was actually a time-traveller. Accidental, of course, but still…

Tessa was blinking in shock, and for a moment I thought she was going to scream at me for lying to her. But inside she burst out, "You sound exactly like a heroine in a novel on some great adventure!" And she then proceeded to pepper me with questions that I tried to answer as best as I could while she listened in awe. But I didn't tell her about seeing her and Magnus. I couldn't.

"So that's why I can't be with Jem," I explained when I'd finished. "I'm from the future and he's very ill. There was a never a worse match."

Something flitted across Tessa's face, as if she could see fault with my words. But it was gone as quickly as it had come and she asked, "Why not bring Jem to the future with you and see if a cure has been found for him there?"

"I doubt it has," I sighed. "I don't want to risk that chance, and there's a possibility that it might be too late even before Henry manages to invent anything closely resembling a Portal." Quickly tearing my mind from that disastrous outcome, I added, "Besides, I can't separate him and Will."

Tessa's eyes darkened at the mention of Will. "What is it?" I asked, hoping that she would tell me—I felt as if my confession had broken some invisible wall between us, and it was steadily becoming more challenging for me to muster up a feeling of jealousy for her.

"Last night," Tessa began, though not without a bit of hesitation, "I offered to bring some holy water up to Will since he ingested vampire blood. He was acting rather…strange, and our conversation ended in a kiss."

This revelation was even more shocking than waking up to find Jem sleeping in my room; I couldn't imagine Will Herondale kissing anyone, although his regard for Tessa had been obvious even to my untrained eye. "You kissed Will?" I echoed, letting out a low whistle.

"Yes. And then he pushed me away. He was quite rude to me." Tessa wasn't able to hide the fact she was upset at this slight, and I patted her arm as reassuringly as I could.

"I don't understand Will nearly as much as I'd like to, or even as much as Jem does, but I can say that he definitely does care for you. He finds you fascinating, but I don't know why he pushes everyone away. Maybe he has some deep, dark secret like the heroes in the novels you read," I teased her.

Tessa looked affronted, suddenly snapping out of her musing and turning back to me. "I once thought that Will could be a hero. But last night it became clear to me he is anything but one. No, if there is a true hero in this Institute, it is Jem."

I squirmed uncomfortably in my chair. "Jem," I repeated, the syllable sounding almost reverent in my voice, and I mentally smacked myself.

Tessa leveled me with one of her piercing stares. "Yes," she said, all businesslike now. "You ought to tell him how you feel about him, Abby. He deserves to love, and be loved, as much as possible before he cannot have either."

I winced. "But I don't love him. I have only known him for two weeks."

"Neither of you have much time," Tessa replied, and her voice turned gentler. "Jem is extraordinarily lucky to have two wonderful people such as Sophie and yourself to care for him."

"Oh, Tess," I sighed. "And I daresay that you are exactly what Will needs. He has not insulted me near as much since you have arrived."

Tessa jutted out her chin slightly in that determined manner of hers. "I do not think Will needs anything from anyone, save for a new personality."

I laughed, watching a small smile cross her face. It was only then I realized how late it was, and we'd been talking for nearly half an hour. "Tessa, I'm sorry," I apologized, jumping out of my chair and looking over at the clock. "It's nearly midnight and you must want to see your brother."

She looked slightly startled too, as if she had lost track of time as well. "Please do not despair, Abby. I should think that it would ease your mind and heart if you were to confess to Jem how you really felt."

"What about Sophie?" I asked dully, watching Tessa stand up and walk over to the door.

"Sophie shall never tell Jem what she feels, even if he is on his deathbed. She believes herself inferior to him, although it is not true. She does not realize of Thomas's regard for her."

I lapsed into silence, knowing that she was right. Tessa moved to leave, but not before turning back to me and saying, "You are the heroine of your story, Abby. You should not stay a passive player, even if you are where you do not belong." And with another smile, she was gone, leaving me to wonder exactly what it was that she meant.

True, I hadn't told her about seeing Nathaniel at the Pandemonium Club—but that wasn't something she needed to know, anyway. I had instead explained my situation to her, and she in return had confessed something private to me as well. We'd only known each other for a few days, and indeed had not spoken very often, but I wondered if in the midst of all those knowing glances and grins whenever Jessamine said something ridiculous, we had fashioned a friendship anyway.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, I wasn't able to fall asleep that night, and felt horribly trapped in my bedroom. I didn't want to sleep, but didn't want to wake the entire Institute up by playing the piano, either. It was well after two o'clock when I rose and pulled on a dressing-gown over my nightclothes, grabbing a witchlight and slipping out of the room.

The Institute was darker and more foreboding than I had ever seen it, and no sound emanated from inside any of the rooms. Despite the witchlight in my hand and the torches on the walls, the darkness was almost crushing. I found myself relieved when I reached the kitchen and placed the witchlight on the table in my search for a midnight snack.

"Drowning your sorrows?" a mocking voice asked from behind me, and I slowly turned around to see Will standing against the wall, looking disgruntled as usual.

"I have no sorrows to drown," I muttered, reaching into the cupboard to pull out a slice of bread and butter it.

"Then I would never have guessed you were a masochist, future girl," Will replied. There was a wicked spark in his eyes. "You are always upset over some problem or another."

"What are you talking about?" I asked through a mouthful of bread. "Shouldn't you be with Jem?"

"_Jem_," Will repeated, "Has gone to comfort our resident warlock. She does not like the idea of us touching her dear, sweet brother, and told us in no uncertain terms not to follow her before stalking away. Of course he followed her, and where they are now is anybody's guess."

I tried not to show any signs of jealousy, though it was hard to miss the audible clenching of my teeth. And just when I'd been thinking Tessa could be trusted…then again, it was Jem who had gone after her, not the other way around.

"That bothers you, doesn't it?" he asked in a quieter tone; I didn't look up at him. "You wish that he would run after you if you ever had the bravery to stalk out of a room."

"What makes you think it bothers me?" I muttered. "I think of Jem as a good friend, nothing more."

"Then the definition of a friend must change sometime in the next hundred years, for a _friend _most certainly does not blush whenever one looks at them, or is unable to take their eyes away from them."

I dropped the butter knife I'd been holding, where it clattered loudly to the counter. "_Don't tell him_."

"Oh, I won't," Will answered, all seriousness now. "If Jem does learn of your feelings and falls in love in return, he will give his entire being to you, and he does not deserve to be thrown away on a silly girl's passing fancy."

"What makes you think it's a passing fancy?" I retorted—but if I was honest with myself, my conversation with Tessa had made me doubt that it was. There was something deeper to my feelings with Jem than there had been with any other boy; it had an almost sacred aspect to it.

"You have only known him for a fortnight, and he was the first person to be kind to you, so you latched on to him instinctively." Will's eyes were hard. "You will have to leave him someday. You don't belong here, Abby."

"No. You believe that I merely feel sorry for him. You do not think I am good enough for Jem."

"I think that you will break his heart," retorted Will. "When you have proven that you are worthy of him, I shall give you my blessing."

I could feel tears blurring my eyes, and I bravely muttered, "_You're_ one to talk, with the way you treat Tessa."

For once, Will looked taken aback, and I took this as my opportunity to stand up and walk away. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"I am merely _leaving _the room, for as you said, I do not have the bravery to stalk out." I was sure my voice was shaking as I turned around and left the kitchen without looking back.

I hated him for putting the truth into words—that I didn't deserve Jem—and I should just forget about him. A part of me was furious at Will, but a much larger part was furious at myself for not believing them.


	14. Fourteen

**I **had barely put one foot on the staircase when I heard a muffled but audible thud in the distance. It sounded like something was banging against the front doors. I paused and turned toward the noise, wondering whether I should go to investigate or wait for someone else to answer it.

But then the noise sounded again, and after waiting for a moment it became clear that no one was going to come to my rescue and make my decision for me, so I had no choice but to trudge slowly toward the doors, reaching for the seraph blade that I'd hidden in the folds of my dress. Jem had advised me never to go anywhere from now on without some sort of weapon, and I found myself suddenly grateful that I'd listened to him.

I could hear several more loud thuds as I drew closer to the doors; it sounded as if someone was banging frantically on it. As I paused, wondering if it was a trap, I dimly heard Tessa's voice cry, "Get away from him!" and, my eyes widening, I threw open the door, the light from the corridor flooding out into the churchyard.

But the sight that I was met with was far from holy. Abandoning all "proper" language, I shrieked, "Oh my God!" and jumped back, staggering against the doors. Tessa was brandishing Jem's cane, standing feet from a tall, spindly creature that vaguely resembled a human, but in a twisted, horror-movie sort of way: although it had arms, legs and was wearing clothes, it had no _face_ aside from vague slashes where its eyes and mouth should be, as if its creator hadn't bothered to make it realistic.

These must be the automatons that Charlotte and Henry had been talking about-de Quincey's clockwork creatures.

And they were _terrifying._

"Will—Charlotte—Henry—someone help!" I cried, silently cursing my broken arm, and tossed my seraph blade at the creature while Tessa slashed at it with her cane. But neither of us could put up an adequate fight against it—the blade literally bounced right off it with a small shower of sparks, and before our incredulous eyes it grabbed Jem's cane and snapped it in two over its knee. With a horrifying realization I knew that could just as easily have been me.

Paying no attention to my injured arm, I snatched up my seraph blade again and dug it right into the automaton's side. It staggered back but only a few paces, and yanked the blade out of its body, dropping it carelessly to the steps.

Something closed around my throat, and I began to splutter and choke, the oxygen being squeezed out of my body as another automaton rose up out of nowhere and pinned me to the wall. I hadn't noticed that there were at least five of them in the yard—but damn it I couldn't breathe—it was exactly like the time I'd nearly drowned in the Thames—

Through my watering eyes, I saw Tessa rise up behind the creature and cuff it over the head with one of the halves of Jem's now-broken cane. The pressure on my throat abruptly ceased, and I staggered backward, gasping.

"If you're going to fight, future girl, you might as well do it with a functional weapon," a voice hissed in my ear, and Will shoved a circular metal desk into my hand. I turned, still dazed, to see that Charlotte, Henry, Thomas and Will were all standing on the front steps, fiercely battling the clockwork creatures. All of them looked utterly intent and focused, the automatons falling one by one in a surge of blue sparks. As Will turned to Tessa, shouting something at her that I couldn't hear, I blindly threw the disk that I'd been given; unfortunately, my balance was still off as I hadn't had any time to draw runes on myself, and it soared through the air, hacking off one of the automaton's arms but not dissembling it. Henry immediately came to my rescue, finishing it off by slicing its head completely off.

When it fell, the last two automatons both froze, the gears whirring, before simultaneously turning around and running out of the gates. Henry and Charlotte immediately went after them, but Will, Tessa and I all stayed still, as if we had been frozen. The ground was littered with carnage, black liquid running down the steps and dripping onto the grass like blood, and it was only then that I realized my broken arm was blazing with pain; the shock must be wearing off. Wincing, I turned back to Tessa to ask her what had happened—and I saw a crumpled figure lying on the other side of the steps. _Jem. _I'd been so preoccupied with the fight that I had completely forgotten that he had to have been around somewhere.

Ducking around Tessa and Will, I ran to Jem's side, dropping to my knees beside him. He was breathing very shallowly and blood dripped from the corners of his mouth. A surge of horror went through me, and I reached out for his shoulder, my hands shaking. As my fingers brushed his shirt, his eyes slowly fluttered open—his eyes were huge and silver, the pupil nearly swallowed up by the iris. "Abby," he whispered, his voice thick. "You're bleeding."

I impatiently wiped my chin with my hand—when the automaton had grabbed my throat, it had managed to slice my jaw in the process. "Not as much as you," I said with a shaky laugh. Jem's eyes suddenly rolled back into his head, and he went slack on the ground, his arm going limp under my hand.

"Abby, _move_," I heard Will hiss from behind me, his voice taut with urgency, and I obediently straightened up and stepped back as he threw one of Jem's arms over his shoulders, Thomas supporting Jem's other side, and the two of them hurried him into the Institute with nary a glance back at me.

I had never felt so useless as I watched them disappear inside, my heart sinking. Trudging back over to Tessa, who was looking just as shellshocked as I was, I picked up my seraph blade and stuck it back into my pocket, not caring that I was staining my dress. "What happened?" I asked her, barely able to get my mouth to say the words.

She glanced over at me, looking anguished. "We were at Blackfriars Bridge and the automatons chased us back here. One of them said that they were going to take revenge on Shadowhunters for what happened at de Quincey's."

"By the Angel," I murmured, but it was more an exclamation of mingled anger and pain than fear. Jem had taken _her _to Blackfriars Bridge? I imagined the two of them leaning against the rail, talking under the moonlight, and felt another sickening surge of jealousy. I knew it was silly, but I had always thought of the bridge as Jem's and mine, not Jem's and Tessa's. "Well," I managed to sigh, hoping that she would think I was talking about the automatons, "That's certainly terrible."

"Go after Jem ," Tessa told me quietly. "He…he would rather wake up to see you than me. Just before he fainted, he called me Abby."

Now my heart leapt right into my throat. I was sure I'd stopped breathing for a second as I gasped, "He did?"

She nodded. "He called, _Abby, look out, _and then collapsed. And he told me on the bridge that—"

"Miss Tessa and Miss Abby!" I dimly heard Sophie call from the front doors, and we both snapped back to attention as she ran over to us, holding a lantern. "Are you all right?"

Tessa and I exchanged a glance. "Yes, we are both fine," she replied, although it was clear that we both _weren't_: my arm was dangling limply at my side and my jaw was still bleeding, while Tessa had a cut slashed across her forehead.

Of course Sophie didn't buy this, and led us into the Institute, closing the door on the strewed remains of the slain clockwork creatures. I felt vaguely sorry for whoever would have to clean up the mess.

The next few minutes passed by in a sort of haze, like an out-of-body experience. I barely noticed the pain in my arm; in fact, I barely felt anything at all. I was dimly aware that Tessa and I were both sitting in armchairs in the drawing-room and that I'd been passed a warm drink that reeked of brandy, but as I gingerly sipped it I began to wonder if the walls were supposed to be blurring like that. Charlotte and Henry eventually reappeared back inside, and I knew that Tessa was explaining what had happened to them in a halted voice, something about the Magister and creatures born of neither Heaven or Hell and a spell binding demon energy to the automatons—but it hardly mattered. None of it mattered anymore. I was useless, just as Will had once told me. Not only did I have a broken arm, I could barely fight. I would be their easiest target.

As I drank more of the brandy, the room began to shift back into focus again—a development that wasn't entirely welcome. The refocusing of my senses meant that my thoughts were clearing, and I did not want to have a better picture of Jem and Tessa standing on Blackfriars Bridge.

Someone stepped into the room, and I didn't need to look up to know it was Will. There was a single slash of blood across his white shirt, but I had no way of knowing if it was his or Jem's. His eyes met mine for a single second before we both broke our gaze at the same time.

"He wants to talk to you," Will said. But he wasn't looking at me. He was looking at Tessa.

I stared blindly down into my glass, unable to watch Tessa as she stood up and followed Will out of the room. Sophie, Henry and Charlotte were all speaking quietly around me, but I couldn't concentrate on their conversation.

"Abby," I heard Charlotte say softly, and I blinked to see her kneeling in front of me, her expression kind. "You did very well tonight. Your arm should heal quickly—"

"Why is everyone telling me I'm doing well?" I suddenly shouted, leaping out of the chair. The brandy must be affecting me even more than I thought. "I'm _not _doing well, and everybody knows it. God, I shouldn't even be here. I'm just something else distracting you from running the Institute. Maybe I should tell the Clave after all. I'll find somewhere else to live. You all have been very generous to me, but I know that you don't want me here." And then I ran out of the room for the second time that night, again so that nobody would see me cry.

I flew down the hallway and up the staircase in case any of them tried to follow me, but to my mild surprise I wasn't pursued. Perhaps Charlotte sensed that I needed to be alone right now—but already I was feeling guilty for shouting at them. It wasn't their fault. And now my outburst would make her worry about me even more.

I finally slumped against the wall, not having the strength to reach my room. I was still so overwhelmed by the fight at de Quincey's and then the battle with the automatons, not to mention my jealousy with Tessa and my anxiety about Jem. I had been thrown into this world so abruptly that I hadn't had time to even form any semblance of footing. Maybe I should have taken up Andrew Lightwood on his offer when I was twelve and become a Shadowhunter then. At least now I would have some idea what I was supposed to.

I sat quietly in the shadows for a long while before I heard footsteps walking toward me. I was beyond the point of caring who saw me now, and could only manage a feeling of apathy when I recognized Will's boots. For a moment I thought he was going to walk right past me, but he stopped at the last moment and stared down at me. "What is it now, future girl?" he asked, and there was something like a sigh in his voice.

"Why should I tell you? It's not like you'd care," I mumbled, angrily wiping away the tears from my face.

Will was silent for a long moment, and then he said, "Jem wanted to explain himself to Tessa." His tone made it clear that he was not at all pleased about this fact.

"Explain what?" I said dully. "His undying love for her?"

He made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. "Of course not. He thinks it is his duty to tell her why he collapsed."

"Oh," I said in a small voice. So Jem _hadn't _told her yet. I was slightly surprised; he had told me almost right off the bat.

Not liking the way he was towering over me in a superior manner, I leaned forward, preparing to stand and use my good arm as leverage. But Will stuck his hand toward me instead, and I stopped, staring dumbly at him.

"Usually holding out one's hand means that the other person is supposed to take it," Will drawled. It took me another moment before I was able to recover enough from the shock to hesitantly grab it.

He pulled me to my feet in one easy movement before stepping back and beginning to stride back down the corridor. "Follow me," he called without looking over his shoulder.

"Huh? Why?" I asked, but gathered up my skirts and limped after him anyway; I was curious about this new Will, as strangely as he was acting.

"You don't want to upset Sophie by bleeding all over the floor," he explained, but it was impossible to miss the sardonic tone in his voice. "Unless, of course, you believe it's an improvement on your looks—a view which I must say that I rather agree with—"

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard it all before," I interrupted, inwardly marveling at my newfound courage. Then again, it was rather difficult to meekly sit back and listen to him when I could take my frustration out on someone who deserved it. "Listen, is Jem going to be all right? Surely he's been like this before…"

Will finally turned his head and gave me a shrewd look. "Yes, he's going to be fine," he replied shortly. _For now, _I couldn't help but think, and wondered if Will was thinking the same thing.

* * *

In much the same manner as he had led me to the library before I'd taken my Vows, he brought me through an unfamiliar part of the Institute—although _exactly _how it was unfamiliar I couldn't tell, since all the corridors seemed to blend into one long mass—and through a pair of elaborate double doors into what I vaguely recognized as the infirmary. There was a long row of beds placed against the wall, and the curtains were drawn, leaving the room in near-darkness save for a glowing candle on one of the tables. Will pulled out a witchlight from his pocket and it immediately flared up, bathing his face in an eerie glow. I stood awkwardly in the door, unsure what I was supposed to do. But for once, he didn't make a cruel remark—instead, he walked back over to me, holding out his stele. I flinched, but he just rolled his eyes and grabbed my arm, lightly drawing an _iratze _on the skin. Almost immediately, I felt the pain disappear and my arm felt as good as new, if not a bit stiff. Before I could stutter out a thanks, he grabbed my jaw tightly in his hand and drew another healing rune onto my face. The flow of blood from the wound stopped, and I was healed again.

"Thank you," I said awkwardly, not wanting to show any gratitude to this boy whose comments to me often came very close to verbal abuse. But then there were the rare times where he seemed almost _human_, like today.

Will looked darkly amused, as if he could read my thoughts, and trudged over to the corner of the room, where he lugged out a wooden pail filled with water. As I watched him with a frown, trying to figure out what he was doing, he knelt down and submerged his entire head in the water, soaking his shirt as well as his hair. When he straightened up his hair was dripping wet and drip onto the ground, soaking the stone floor.

"Why did you try to fight if you were injured?" he asked me starkly, his blue eyes just as penetrating as Tessa's grey ones.

I paused, taken aback by the unpredicted question. "Jem and Tessa were out there," I said indignantly. "I couldn't just stand back and leave him—them."

Will was looking at me strangely, but I barely noticed. I _hadn't _given any thought to running right out there, hadn't I? And I hadn't run back inside the Institute when I'd seen the automatons, as I would have expected myself to do. No, I'd just gone straight outside with my only thought being that I couldn't leave Jem and Tessa to fight those creatures alone. Was this just a lingering side-effect of the runes, or was it a deeper change?

Meanwhile, to my disbelief and discomfort, Will had unbuttoned his bloodstained shirt and was now reaching for another one, which he appeared to pull out of nowhere.

And that was when I realized he was testing me. I didn't know why or what exactly he wanted to find, but something about this was intentional on his part. Was he trying to gauge whether I found him desirable too? I swallowed hard, wishing that Tessa was here to lighten the mood. Then again, she would probably be trying to look away from Will's bare chest even harder than I was.

"You're doing better than I thought you would, future girl," he said as he pulled on the other shirt and strode to the door, for once holding it open for me. "Most other women would have swooned by now."

I swallowed hard. "They must not have seen many men in their lives, then."

I wasn't even sure myself what I was saying, but it seemed to amuse Will, for he chuckled darkly as we walked back down the shadowed corridor. "The lady hath slayed me," he mock-gasped, putting a hand to his heart.

"Unfortunately only metaphorically," I muttered, wondering if this wasn't actually Tessa disguised as Will for some reason. He had never acted so spirited toward me.

I was so busy wondering if hell had suddenly frozen over that I didn't even notice when we stopped outside my door. Will was already moving toward Jem's room as if he had forgotten about me already, and I watched him warily out of the corner of my eye, unsure whether to ask him the question that was currently weighing on my mind. "Why did you test me?"

He laughed once. "Is that how you see it?"

I licked my lips nervously. "Then what should I see?"

Will sneered. "Well, then I suppose I could say that you've passed the first test." And then he had disappeared back into Jem's room, closing the door smartly behind him.

I had no choice but to trudge into my own room, wondering if the brandy was even stronger than I had originally thought and I had just imagined that entire conversation.

* * *

Loud, urgent voices woke me the next day, and I groggily rolled over in bed, opening one eye and expecting to see Sophie opening the curtains and laying my dress out on the chair. But I was alone in my room and bright light shone in through the cracks in the blinds—I guessed it was afternoon. By the Angel, had I really slept that long?

The voices outside had grown ever more insistent and higher-pitched, as if they'd now escalated into an argument. Sighing to myself, I pushed myself out of bed and stood up, not caring that I was still wearing my dress from the night before that had blood and automaton fluid all over it. But I opened the door to catch the tail end of the quarrel: Tessa and Jessamine were just disappearing around the corner, locked in an intense conversation. What on earth could have gotten them so upset?

Across the corridor, Sophie, wearing a very worried expression, slipped out of Jem's room and hurried after the two girls with nary a glance in my direction. I felt a pang of worry: something must be wrong. I should go after them…but on the other hand, she had left Jem's door slightly ajar and that was far too tempting to ignore.

Trying to push the thought of Will's knowing smirk and Tessa's quiet pity out of my mind, I crept across the hall and hesitantly peered around the door, unsure what I would see inside.

Jem was lying very still, his breathing so shallow that I had to check to make sure he _was _actually still alive. His face with a deathly pale and there were grey shadows on his eyelids. I could see his pulse beating in his throat, and for the first time it struck me just how fragile he was. I felt as if he would crumble at the slightest touch, like parchment.

Much later, I would look back on this moment and marvel exactly what caused me to reach out and brush the hair from his forehead, feeling his burning, feverish skin against my fingers. I wondered how high his fever was, and if he was having difficulty sleeping. Maybe I should run up to the infirmary and get him some cold water—

But as I turned away, mentally running over my options, his fingers closed over my wrist, holding them in a deceptively strong grip. My breath caught as I turned back around to face him. His eyes weren't open, but they were fluttering madly as if he was dreaming. "Please don't leave," he murmured, and I wasn't sure whether he thought I was Will, Tessa, or someone else entirely.

"Jem?" I whispered as carefully as I had the previous morning when I'd found him asleep in my room, kneeling down at his bedside. His skin was hot against mine, the _yin fen _racing through his veins like fire. I stared down at the inside of his wrist, where the blue veins stood out prominently against his papery skin.

He moved my hand back up to his face, still moving in that dreamlike state, and brought my fingers to his lips. A shudder ran through me at the feeling of his mouth against my skin, and his breath was warm against my fingertips. Jem's eyes slowly flickered open and fixed on mine; they weren't as brightly silver as they had been last night, but they were still larger than normal. "Is this a dream?" he asked, and every vibration of his voice sent shivers through my entire body.

I couldn't muster up an answer; in fact, I was sure that I couldn't even _move_. All I knew was that my mouth was hanging open and my eyes were wider than saucers.

Jem's other hand was suddenly cupping my face, his thumb rubbing against my jaw where the automaton had slashed me. I hadn't even noticed him moving, so unaware was I of my surroundings. "Abby," he breathed, and gently tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, sending yet another jolt through my entire being. A tiny smile had appeared on his lips, and I wondered if he was able to hear my heart, which was as loud as a jackhammer.

For the second time that afternoon, there was a loud noise from outside—only this one was of an annoyed growl instead of intelligible words. Even as preoccupied as I was, I recognized Jessamine's voice right away, and felt a wave of exasperation and irritation.

Jem suddenly jerked back, his hand falling away from my face. I took a hasty step back from the bed as his eyes focused, landing on me with a mixture of bewilderment and still half-caught in troubled sleep. "It wasn't a dream," I said softly.

Now he looked trapped, as if he wished to be anywhere but here. "I should not have taken such liberties. I did not mean to—" He was visibly flustered, his eyes widening with each word. So he was embarrassed that he had acted in such a way toward me. I didn't blame him. He must think that he had said something he didn't truly mean.

"Jem, please don't," I said, turning away from him. "I just wished to see if you were feeling all right."

"Yes, I am quite well," he replied as he slowly climbed out of bed. I noticed he was still very pale and peaky, but I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself from advising him to rest; he knew his limits much better than I did.

As I drew back, I saw that his cane was leaning against the edge of his bed, intact and whole again. I smiled, walking over to it and placing my hand on the dragon's head. It felt sturdy and reliable under my fingers, and I rather admired Jem for having such an interesting possession. Henry must have repaired it during the night.

"I'm jealous of your cane—um, Jem?" I asked, and my mouth went very dry as I saw that he was changing his shirt and wasn't paying attention to me at all. I quickly glanced away, as embarrassed as if I'd seen him completely undressed. God, what was wrong with me? I hadn't been like this when Will had been shirtless last night. But then again, the outline of Will's ribs hadn't been visible against his shirt, and he wasn't so thin that he seemed almost skeletal—

Jem froze, and I continued to stare at the floor, an awkward silence springing up between us. It was, by all accounts, nothing of importance or consequence even in the Victorian era, but I could already feel my face turning red. Seeing Will had been something that I could admire objectively, the way one could acknowledge a movie star's looks but not be in any way attracted to them—but Jem was completely different. He wasn't as rugged or classically handsome as his _parabatai, _but something about him made me forget about everyone else.

"I apologize, Abby, I did not think you would mind," he said immediately. I knew I _shouldn't _mind—especially considering the era I came from—but the awkwardness stretched on.

"I don't," I mumbled, far too late for it to be any sort of honest response. "I'm just…thinking about something else."

It was a blatant lie, but Jem seemed to relax slightly. He tried to button up his shirt, but his fingers were trembling too hard to do it properly. Concerned, I forgot my uneasiness and stepped over to him. "Do you need more of the drug?"

"No, it's not the drug," he said, and flushed even more than he already was.

We stood silent for another moment, and I felt slightly dizzy, as if I was teetering on the edge of a precipice. I could feel his eyes on me, and I was dimly aware that I was very obviously staring at his chest—so painfully thin—but I couldn't look away.

And then I dimly heard Charlotte's voice in the hallway. "Jessie, is Jem still in bed?" she asked.

"_I _don't know," Jessamine said rudely. "Why would I be checking on him?"

Charlotte sighed. "Fine, then, I'll do it." Her quick, sure footsteps began to head toward the door, and I inwardly gulped at the thought of her catching us in such a compromising position. Jem still seemed unable to move, so in a burst of daring I reached out and quickly buttoned up his shirt myself, my fingers accidentally touching his bare skin. His eyes closed briefly, and in my haste I nearly scratched him, unaware that my fingers were shaking myself.

I stepped back just as there was a tap on the door and Charlotte poked her head in. "Oh, there you are," she said in a tone that suggested she had expected to see me in Jem's room. "Nathaniel went missing for a while, but Thomas has found him. He is going to tell us his story now, if you would care to listen."

"Of course," Jem said mildly. I nodded mutely in response.

"And Abby, Sophie is waiting to assist you now." I presumed she meant that I should wash my hair and change into a new dress, so I nodded again, feeling like a bobblehead doll, and began to leave the room. Satisfied, Charlotte turned to leave as well, and I heard her scolding Jessamine, although I couldn't quite hear what it was about.

But I had just reached the door when I felt Jem's hand lightly close around my arm, drawing me back toward him. I automatically turned at his touch, and was hyperaware that we were standing so close I could feel his breath on my neck. "Y—yes?" I asked him, fighting to keep my voice and breathing level. If I had been a more courageous person, like Tessa, I would have leaned forward and kissed him right then and there.

"Wait," Jem said, and cleared his throat nervously, his eyes darting from side to side as if he couldn't meet my gaze either. "Abby, there is something I wish to tell you."

Could this have something to do with what Tessa had told me he'd been saying on the bridge? "Sure, Jem," I answered, my mind wildly rushing through all the possibilities. Was he going to tell me that he was sick of me and wished to pass my training on to someone else? "You can tell me anything."

He was visibly sweating, little droplets clinging to his temples and forehead. But just as he opened his mouth, I heard my door creak open from across the hallway. "Miss Abby?" Sophie called.

Jem instantly dropped my wrist, giving me a shy smile. "Never mind," he said, and my heart sank right down into my toes. "I do not want to keep you waiting."

"You're not," I protested, but he had already turned back from the door; from _me._ I had no other option but to leave his room, wondering what could have been so important.


	15. Fifteen

**I think everyone will enjoy this chapter. :)**

**And in response to an anonymous review about why Will wanted to speak to Jem in Chapter 13...well, it more to drag him out of Abby's room than anything significant!**

* * *

**B**y the time my hair had been washed, I was wearing a clean dress, and I'd eaten a good meal, it was nearly dinnertime. The others must have completely forgotten about me by now; I wouldn't have been surprised if they had discovered and subsequently fought de Quincey in the meantime. I kept going over Jem's earlier words to me; what had he wanted to say? And what had he told Tessa on the bridge? It was impossible that he had any feelings for me…perhaps he had confessed that he disliked me and she wanted to break the news gently. No wonder Will was so distrusting of me; he thought that my "little crush" on Jem was childish and pathetic. Maybe it was.

Sophie had barely said a word to me the entire afternoon, although I had tried to make conversation. A part of me felt uncomfortably guilty that she had likely overheard Jem and I speaking in his room. I wanted to tell her that it wasn't what she was thinking at all, but my quota of bravado appeared to have been exhausted for the day, and I couldn't say the words.

The grandfather clock in the drawing-room was just chiming six as I arrived downstairs, listening to the low but excited murmur of voices just behind the door. I heard Tessa's calm, soothing tone, and then a semi-familiar man—Nathaniel—but before I could quietly slip inside I heard Jem saying, "I can check the lunar tables in the library. I'll be right back."

I stepped back from the door just as he went hurrying out, looking intent on something. In fact, he didn't appear to notice me at first, and I had to clear my throat and hurry after him in the direction from which I had just come. "Jem, what is it?" I asked, and I wasn't sure if his silver eyes widened because he was pleased to see me or he was just surprised that I'd managed to slip past him unnoticed.

"Tessa's brother has just explained to us how he came to be involved with the Pandemonium Club," he replied, and eagerly launched into an explanation of his own about what I had missed: apparently, Mr and Mrs Gray had been involved with the Pandemonium Club even before Tessa was born, and Nate, upon his discovery of the Shadow World, had headed straight for England, hoping to gamble, drink and become rich like the rest of the mundanes who had joined the club. When he had met de Quincey, the vampire had been disappointed: he had reason to believe that one of the Gray children was special, and once he'd realized that it most certainly wasn't Nate, he'd paid the boy to lure his younger sister to England.

At this point in time I'd interrupted Jem's story: "He sold out his sister?" I asked in disbelief, my respect of Nathaniel dropping lower by the second. I felt a wave of anger on Tessa's behalf.

Jem nodded, his expression just as upset as mine. "Once he agreed to send Tessa over, de Quincey kept Nathaniel locked up in his house—"

"Wait," I said, cutting him off yet again. "That can't be true. I saw him in the Pandemonium Club the night before she was rescued from the Dark Sisters."

Now Jem frowned. We had reached the library by now, and he pulled me inside, closing the door behind us with his foot. "You have? Why didn't you tell us?"

Somewhat sheepishly, I explained my embarrassment at becoming lost in the club and Nate's insistence that I had something tattooed on my arm. "I didn't want you to think of me as more of a coward than I already was, if I couldn't even get a mundane to leave me alone. I would have told you eventually." _Besides, I was too busy concentrating on that giant spider to pay much attention to anything else._

"Abby, I—" Jem began, and then broke off, turning away from me. "Never mind. Do not concern yourself with it." He strode purposefully over to a stand in the middle of the room, which was covered with indecipherable—at least to me—diagrams and pictures that I vaguely recognized as sketches of the solar system.

"So what happened after de Quincey locked him up?" I prodded after a moment, curious to hear the rest of the story.

Jem seemed preoccupied with interpreting the lunar charts—someone like Will would have told me in no uncertain terms to get lost—but he patiently obliged me: de Quincey despised Shadowhunters and their superior attitudes toward Downworlders, and he wished to build an army that would destroy the Nephilim so that he could rule London instead. He had hired the Dark Sisters to discover a way to bind demon energy to the automatons so they would be nearly impossible to destroy—although I was still confused as to what exactly he wanted with Tessa. Supposedly the spell that would bring the clockwork creatures to life would only work on the full moon, hence the reason why Jem was checking the lunar charts.

When he had finished his story, sounding slightly out of breath—I didn't blame him—I was silent for a long moment, watching his quick, steady hands moving swiftly across the diagrams as he traced the mess of lines, looking for an answer. I thought of the horrible creatures that had attacked the Institute last night, and couldn't suppress a shudder at the thought of facing more of them. Somehow they had been more frightening to me than the vampires were, despite the fact they weren't technically _alive_ at all.

Jem suddenly let out a sharp intake of breath, and I could see his hands tightening around the edges of the stand. "Is something wrong?" I asked him, but he just whirled around and rushed out of the room, pausing only to place his hand on my arm and pull me along with him. I was stupidly pleased even by the simple touch, but I was too concerned with the look on his face: for the first time since I'd met him, I saw a glimmer of unease in his eyes, made even worse by the hard way his mouth was set, as if he was steeling himself for something difficult.

At least he was moving much more quickly than he had been the previous night: he seemed to ghost across the corridors as we raced down them, his hand never leaving my arm.

I finally understood what he was upset about: "It's not tomorrow," Jem said, bursting into the drawing-room with me at his heels. "The full moon. It's tonight."

* * *

The next few minutes turned into organized chaos: Charlotte went to inform the Enclave about the situation, while Henry went off to the crypt to fetch the inventions he'd been working on—with a sharp pang of displeasure that I tried hard to stifle, I wondered if he'd even _thought _about working on a Portal in the past days—and Jem and Will headed to the weapons room to gather gear and munitions for the Enclave. Tessa, Jessamine, Nate and I stayed in the drawing-room, where thankfully Nate didn't seem to recognize me at all. His gaze slid over me blankly, as if I didn't exist at all. I was used to these kinds of looks, in fact, and to tell the truth I found it quite easy to ignore him too.

Although I knew that Jem and Will wouldn't be going with the rest of the Enclave on the raid to de Quincey's purported hideaway in Chelsea, I couldn't help but wonder if Jem wished he could have gone. I would have bet everything I owned that Will would want to, but Jem was much more complicated in that respect. On one hand, he didn't seem the type to willingly walk right into the face of danger, but on the other he was a Shadowhunter and considered it his duty to do whatever was asked of him. And from there my mind began to wander to a scenario where I was injured and he had to rescue me…I was sure Will would be dragged kicking and screaming in _that _situation, but Jem might be different…

"And I suppose _you've _mastered the art of winning men's affections?" Jessamine snapped, and I whirled around to look at her, half-afraid that she was able to read my thoughts—but she was staring at Tessa, not me. "You think I haven't seen you looking at Will with puppy-dog eyes? As if he were even—Oh!" She flounced to the door, her blonde plaits falling out and her face bright red. "Never mind. You make me sick. I'm going to talk to Agatha without you. And I know you don't care how you look, but you ought to at least fix your hair, Tessa. It looks like birds are living in it!" With that, she stormed out, slamming the door behind her so hard that the panes of glass in the windows rattled.

I glanced, shocked, toward Tessa, wanting to ask what had happened but not daring to speak. Nate seemed utterly uninterested in the conversation; in fact, he was staring vacantly down at the table as if it fascinated him. A moment later Tessa quietly ducked her head and slipped outside as well, her expression betraying nothing.

Not wanting to stay alone with Nate, and feeling a peculiar urge to comfort Tessa, I darted out of the room after her, but found myself alone in the hallway. She must have nearly run away.

I checked the library first, since it was her most likely refuge as well as being the closest to the drawing-room, but she was nowhere to be found. I figured that she must have gone all the way to her room, and wasn't disappointed when I saw that her door was slightly ajar. I raised my hand to the wood and knocked as unobtrusively as I could. "Tess?" I asked, hoping she wouldn't mind the nickname.

She came to the door a moment later, her face whiter than usual, with her hair curling freely around her neck and dripping wet, as if she had splashed her face with cold water. "What is it, Abby?" she answered, her voice taut with tension.

I blinked and stepped backward, unsure how to handle the delicate situation. "Jessamine didn't mean it," I began, although we both knew very well that she _had_. "She does not think before she speaks."

"Does anyone?" Tessa said wryly, but held her door open a bit wider. I took this as my invitation to step inside and did so, wringing my hands uncomfortably.

"I just wanted you to know that, um, you're ten times the person that Jessamine is, and you needn't be nervous. The Enclave will find and catch de Quincey, and you and Nate can go back home to New York as soon as all of this is over. Plus, I don't think your…_admiration _of Will is that obvious." I spoke in a rush, ineloquent but hoping that I had gotten my point across. I was just amazed that I had used the word "needn't".

Tessa smiled thinly, as if she wanted to express her gratitude but didn't have the energy to muster up a true grin. "Thank you for the confidence, Abby," she sighed, walking over to her chair and beginning to drag a brush through her hair. "But I am not so optimistic. Nate is not the same brother who left New York." She paused. "Then again, I am not the same sister that he knew. I wonder if he can even recognize me."

"Of course he can," I soothed, walking over to her and placing my hands on the back of her chair. "He still calls you Tessie, doesn't he? And he was staring at you the entire time you were in the room. You're still family."

"I suppose," she said quietly, bowing her head and placing the brush back on the table. After a moment I reached out for it and took over the task of brushing her hair, feeling inexplicably like Sophie. But I felt like I had to be _doing _something or I would run out of the room in discomfort. I didn't know if I should tell her what I had just told Jem about seeing Nate at the Pandemonium Club. "But truly, you are the only other person who can understand my plight, Abby. You have been uprooted from your family and everything you have ever known, thrust into this world of shadows and nightmares. And you have grown to care for the people you have met, even if they are…difficult."

I managed a wry grin as I began to plait her hair again, suddenly glad for the sleepovers I had gone to where I'd been forced to braid the other girls' hair. "I guess you're right. But at least…" I trailed off, not wanting to say _At least you have Nate _and demeaning her troubles. But a small part of my mind wondered if she even had him.

Tessa gave a small gasp, reaching out to grab my arm as if she had just realized something. "I am sorry, Abby. I should not be speaking of my problems to you when you are suffering so greatly yourself. I speak of being distanced from a country, but you have been distanced from both your country and your time. I cannot imagine how I would bear such a burden. It must be terribly lonely."

"Well, it is," I admitted, biting my lower lip so I wouldn't begin to tear up. "But as you said, I have grown to care for the people here." _Most of them, at least._

"Henry will invent a Portal that can send you back home," Tessa said with that determined set to her chin, so stubbornly and resolutely that I almost believed her myself. "And if he doesn't, Jem and I—and Will—shall find a way."

"Will?" I asked, unable to suppress a grimace.

"Yes," Tessa replied, with all the conviction of someone making an unbreakable oath. Seeing my uncertainty, she added, "You really ought to stand up to him more. Goodness knows not enough people do."

I sighed heavily. "I know. But I've never been able to stand up to _anybody_, and Will is probably the most intimidating of them all. He's like…he's like the heroes in one of your books. Maybe he's hiding something awful. I know this might sound rude, but I don't really care to know what it is. He's been rude enough to me. Anyway, I know of another Herondale in my time, so perhaps things worked themselves out eventually…"

Tessa turned in her chair, her eyes just as wide as Jem's had been earlier. "So Will must eventually marry and have children."

I nodded slowly as a sudden, crazy idea struck me. Tessa was, so far, the only girl whom Will seemed to show any interest, and she was certainly captivated by him. Could it be…? But no; I saw no way how that worked. Tessa was a warlock, and according to the _Codex _warlocks couldn't bear children. There must be some other branch of the Herondale family that I didn't know about. Perhaps Will had a brother whose descendants would carry on the line. Still, it was odd to think of my father being _parabatai _with someone who was, however distantly, related to Will.

"Abby?" Tessa asked hesitantly, interrupting my musings. Now she looked uncharacteristically nervous, her fingers unconsciously touching her clockwork angel. "If what everyone seems to believe is true—that I really am a warlock—then I am immortal."

"Yes," I said after a long silence, our gazes meeting in the mirror; mine startled and wary, hers dejected and resigned.

"That means I would still be alive in the time you belong, in 1978." She faltered, her mouth pulling together in a grimace similar to the one I had made. "If that is indeed the case, then we would be able to meet again."

"I—yeah, I guess so. Just be sure to make it any time after the twentieth of May, provided I ever actually get back, or I will have absolutely no idea who you are." We shared a small smile in the mirror, but I could sense her mind was in actuality on something else.

"I do not know how I would be able to endure it," Tessa continued in a smaller voice. "To slowly lose everyone that I have ever known and loved while I stay ageless and unchanging."

I was at a loss for words: this was a problem neither I nor anyone else, except perhaps Magnus Bane, could help her with. "You speak of me having the greatest burden, Tessa, but perhaps we are both equally cursed in different ways. As you told me, you are the heroine of your own story." I gently placed the brush back down on the table and squeezed her shoulder briefly before quietly leaving the room, knowing that simple gesture could say more than any words I thought of ever would.

* * *

Will was lurking in the corridor outside, undoubtedly waiting for Tessa, but I pretended I didn't see him and walked right past, breathing a sigh of relief when he didn't call after me, not even to taunt or mock some aspect of my appearance. Thank the Angel for small miracles; he must be so concentrated on whatever he was usually brooding about that I escaped his cutting remarks for the moment.

I was just rounding the corner on the way to the music room—I hadn't played the piano in days and my fingers were beginning to itch—when I nearly ran straight into Jem, who was carrying an armful of what looked like scythes and axes. "Hi, Jem," I said, suspiciously eyeing the weapons in his hands. "You're not planning to use those on me, are you?"

It was a terrible joke, and he looked genuinely shocked for a moment before bursting out into laughter. "By the Angel, no," he exclaimed, although I was sure he was more amused by the expression on my face than the words. "I was just bringing these out to Charlotte and Henry. Would you care to join me?"

"Of course," I replied, momentarily forgetting about the piano, and obediently followed him down the stairs and through the front door to where Henry and Charlotte were preparing to climb into the carriage. Thomas gave us a friendly wave as we approached, and I happily returned it. Charlotte, however, looked anxious when she spotted us. "Jem, thank you very much. Abby, please do not look so worried. The Institute will be perfectly safe."

_It's not me I'm worried about, _I thought. _It's you and Henry. _But something told me that this was not an acceptable thing for a Shadowhunter to confess, so I bit my tongue and tried to look reassured.

While Charlotte gave Jem instructions on what precautions he and Will needed to take to ensure the Institute's continued security, I noticed a tall, dark figure emerge from the doors and start toward us. Will's expression was set in his usual scowl, his hands stuffed carelessly into his pockets. Again he didn't even acknowledge my presence as he stood next to Jem and listened to Charlotte, looking extremely displeased.

I supposed that was my cue to leave. Shooting a quick smile at Jem that I hoped he saw, I trudged back up to the Institute, which was bathed in the bright colors of sunset. It had evidently been a sunny and somewhat pleasant day, but I'd unfortunately been asleep for most of it.

My desire to go to the music room had vanished; it was unfortunate that the piano was probably my only hobby. Mom had all but forced me to begin playing it in childhood; sometimes I wondered if I actually _truly _enjoyed the instrument, or if it was just a product of my upbringing. After all, _I _hadn't been the one who had wanted to participate in all those recitals, and the only reason I wanted to go to Juilliard was because it was in New York City; across the country from California. I knew I couldn't blame my mother, though; Dad had been the one who was talented at the piano, and she had enrolled her only daughter into lessons in hopes she would be able to reclaim a tiny bit of what she had lost. But still—my looks had been inherited from my father; my only talent had been inherited from him, and so had my Shadowhunter blood. Sometimes I wondered if there was any original part of _me_ left that I hadn't noticed, or I was just made up of my father's characteristics, like some real life Frankenstein.

As I passed the drawing-room, I saw that Tessa and Jessamine were back with Nate, who appeared to be shuffling cards on the table. I thought briefly about joining them, but decided that my presence probably wouldn't be welcome, not when they looked so intent. Instead I headed up the stairs to my room, where I pulled my fighting gear out of the wardrobe and smoothed it over the bed, staring at it thoughtfully. Maybe I could do a bit of training and impress Jem with what I had taught myself. I imagined his bright smile lighting up his face, and felt a rush of excitement. Yes, that was exactly what I should do.

I quickly changed into my gear and tied my hair up before grabbing my stele and seraph blade, inking the Equilibrium and Agility runes onto my arms. I liked to think I had become quite adept at naming and deciphering the runes by now. Two weeks of reading nothing but the _Codex _tended to do that to a person.

The training room was deserted when I stepped inside, much to my relief, and I wondered how many Shadowhunters the Institute could hold. A hundred? A thousand? At any rate, the room was certainly large enough for either of those numbers to train comfortably.

I headed for the beams first, pulling myself up the ladder before landing lightly on the wood, jumping across the room. The setting sun cast brilliant rays of light across the floor, sparkling and illuminating the beads of dust that swirled up around me. In fact, I had to squint against the blinding light, something I hadn't actually done since I'd been sent here. Perhaps there was a curtain that could be pulled down to block out the sun—I certainly needed it.

A loud, gong-like sound suddenly reverberated from downstairs, audible even from this distance. I frowned; that was the Institute's bell. But surely Charlotte and Henry wouldn't be back yet, would they? I crawled over to the window and peered out—I could just make out a large black carriage parked outside the gates, with the words _Mortmain and Company _elegantly printed on the side. "Mortmain," I breathed. Wasn't he the one who had been working with de Quincey at the Pandemonium Club?

Now I could see Will and Jem standing at the door, talking to a short, wiry-looking man wearing elegant clothes and a top hat. What did he want? Was this Mortmain or one of his associates?

I pressed my nose to the window, attempting to get a better view. Mortmain had his hands out in what appeared to be a pleading gesture, where Will's arms were crossed over his chest and Jem was shaking his head slightly. Again, I wondered what he could possibly be asking them about.

Finally Mortmain appeared to give up: he turned around and began to walk back to the carriage, Will and Jem watching him leave. When he finally disappeared beyond the gates, I turned around and leapt down from the beams, my curiosity getting the better of me. Something about this entire evening wasn't quite right: I could feel dread beginning to creep through my veins, twisting my stomach into knots and sending a rush of adrenaline through me. But I couldn't put my finger exactly on _what _was bothering me: it was some sort of instinct that was more than a gut feeling. The only other time I could remember feeling like this was when I'd been at the motel, just after Mom had left and I'd first spotted the spider.

Tessa, Jem and Will were standing in the front corridor, all of them spinning guiltily around when they saw me. "What's going on?" I asked, stopping a few feet away from Will. "Why was Mortmain here?"

None of them questioned how I knew this. "He gave us the address to the Dark Sisters' house in Highgate," Jem explained. "Will and I are going to investigate."

"Then I'll go too," I said steadfastly. "I am a Shadowhunter as well."

"No," Jem and Will said at the same time, surprising both me and Tessa. "It is too dangerous, Abby," Jem explained quietly. "You are not properly trained, and Will and I only have our experience on our side."

A surge of disappointment, strong enough that it surprised even me, swept through me and I was shocked at myself: had I just volunteered to put myself into the path of danger? I was sure I looked just as stunned as the others did right now.

"You do not want Abby and I going with you because we are girls," Tessa said, with a peculiar bitterness. "You do not think we can fight as well as you."

The two boys exchanged a look, a knowing glance that spoke more than any words could. "No—we do not want you because you will only slow us down," Will said with a finality in his voice that signaled the end of the conversation. Without another word, he spun around and stalked out the door.

Jem's eyes were bright, his cheekbones high with color. Had he taken more of the drug? "I am sorry," he said, polite as ever. "But Will and I do not want to put either of you in danger."

"And what about you?" I asked, fully aware that Will was waiting at the end of the drive for him. "What of your safety?"

His mouth opened and closed, as if he was going to say something but thought better of it. "We shall be fine," he replied, although we both knew I hadn't been speaking in general terms.

"I feel as if I should at least say goodbye," Tessa said, biting her lip in worry and looking out where Will had disappeared.

Jem smiled at her. "It is not a Shadowhunter custom to wish each other goodbye or good luck before a battle. We behave as if we know that our return is certain."

Tessa frowned. "Ah," she said, although she still seemed puzzled.

"_Mizpah_," Jem continued, and I recognized the word from my frequent reading of the _Codex. Mizpah _was what lovers said to each other before one left for battle. But I had no idea if he was talking to me or Tessa. Then again, I hadn't been the one who had been speaking to him.

With one last kind smile for both of us, Jem hurried out the door after Will, closing it tightly behind him. I took a step back from Tessa, trying not to show any signs of my sudden, irrational jealousy.

She looked pleadingly at me, reaching out to take my arm. "Will you join us in the drawing-room, Abby? Agatha has made some sandwiches, and I am sure that Nate would be pleased to make your acquaintance."

But I shook my head, feeling slightly guilty as I saw her face fall and she dropped my arm. "I'm sorry—I can't. I left my seraph blade in the training room." Although this was a lie, I didn't feel that I could stomach either Nate or Jessamine at the moment. Promising that I would make it up to Tessa, I hurried upstairs before she could persuade me further.

I was restless, feeling like a tiger locked in a tiny cage. A part of me that I never knew existed wanted to go with Will and Jem to _fight_, to use my newfound fighting skills even though it was more than likely it would be an enormous risk. I didn't want to stay in the Institute playing cards with two people I didn't know or like, even if Tessa would be there, waiting for Jem to return. It was like a constant pang in my heart, not knowing if he was safe or not, and for the first time I knew what my mother had felt like when Dad had been a Shadowhunter.

The training room was noticeably colder than when I'd left it. Although it was now much darker outside, the temperature shouldn't have dropped at least ten degrees in as many minutes. I stood in the middle of the room, thinking irrationally that the Institute had some sort of air-conditioning, until I saw that the curtains were fluttering slightly in the breeze. That was odd—I hadn't opened the windows. Perhaps Sophie had been cleaning it while I'd been gone.

For the second time that evening, I climbed up onto the beams and carefully navigated my way to the windows, realizing too late that my equilibrium rune had faded and I wasn't feeling nearly as confident as I should be. To take my mind off of the rather intimidating drop below, I kept my eyes fixed on the street outside, watching Will and Jem's carriage rattling off into the distance. The moon hung low over the city, turning the tops of buildings a pale white. I forced myself not to compare the color to Jem's hair and reached out to slam the window shut, but my attention was caught by a shadow that was slowly moving across the wall toward me. I froze, some primitive part of my brain already knowing what it was.

It didn't take long for my new instincts to kick in; I wasn't sure how much time had passed between registering the information and pulling my seraph blade out of my pocket, prepared to hurl it at the now-familiar spider that was crawling across the window, in a perfect course for scuttling inside.

I took a deep breath and steeled myself—but that moment cost me, and it was just enough time for the spider to launch itself straight at me. I shrieked and jumped back, forgetting that I was still balanced on top of the beam, and tumbled backward, feeling nothing but empty air as I frantically tried to right myself.

And then I hit the ground, all the breath knocked out of me, and once my head smacked onto the floor with an agonizing crack, everything disappeared.

* * *

The next thing I could feel was pain, and I nearly screamed again—my head was ablaze with agony, ripping through my body like I'd had my skull sliced open. Dimly, I wondered if I had a concussion. But weren't Shadowhunters supposed to be stronger than mundanes? They didn't get hurt as easily. I'd fallen from a tree when I was a child, and Mom had immediately rushed me to the hospital, where the baffled doctors had told me that I was perfectly fine, without even a scratch. I hoped the same thing happened now.

"Abby," someone was saying through the muffled haze that was my mind. Someone was repeating my name, over and over, in an increasingly desperate tone. Was I still lying on the floor of the training room? I would have guessed that it had been Tessa or Sophie who'd found me, but the voice was decidedly male—and familiar. Was it just my brain hallucinating what it knew I wanted to hear?

But I wouldn't choose to fantasize Jem's voice sounding so frantic or hopeless. He gave a quiet, muted gasp, like the yelp of a kicked puppy, and he was pulling me up and cradling me to his chest, his arms wrapping around my waist. I leaned back into his shoulder, feeling that if this was a dream, I might as well make the most of it.

And then he froze, his breathing coming faster against my skin. I felt his fingers press against the pulse point on my throat, sensing my heartbeat.

"Jem," I whispered, and grasped his hand, grabbing his wrist and pulling him toward me. Everything was spinning and swirling around me, as if I was in a dream. But the warmth of his hand in mine was far too real for me to be imagining it.

I forced myself to open my eyes, blinking away the spots and shapes that were dancing in my field of vision. They focused on Jem first, his silver hair falling over his eyes as he stared down at me with an expression that was akin to someone who had just seen a ghost, and then to the room beyond him. I couldn't see much of it, but judging by the dust layering the walls and ceiling, and the darkened outline of furniture pushed against the walls, it wasn't the training room.

"I thought you were dead," Jem said, and carefully grabbing me by the arms, pushed me against the wall into a sitting position, where I could clearly see the pool of blood on the floor. My hair was soaked with it, the ends stained bright red. There was a horribly throbbing pain where my head had hit the ground. "I thought—"

"Yes," I said, my breath coming out in a choked gasp. "I thought I was dead, too." _Where else would you have been holding me like that?_

"James," I distantly heard Will's voice saying. "Get away from her! It could be a trap—"

Jem's gaze flickered between me and his _parabatai, _and he looked torn. I felt footsteps walking across the room toward me, sending vibrations through the floor, and then Will's face came into view, betraying nothing. He knelt down and roughly grabbed my arm, drawing a rune on it with his stele. To my amazement, the pain in my head began to lessen and my thoughts became clearer.

"It's her, Will," Jem said in a low voice as I groaned and ran my fingers through my sticky hair, feeling a golf-ball-sized lump on my scalp where I'd made contact with the ground. "The rune wouldn't have worked if she was an imposter."

"Imposter?" I asked thickly, my eyes widening as I took in the unfamiliar room. "Where am I? Are we in the Institute?"

Jem and Will exchanged one of their long, loaded gazes, the kind of look that only friends who have known each other for years could accomplish. "We are in the Dark Sisters' mansion," Jem finally said. "In Highgate."

"That's not possible," I replied, rubbing my eyes as if my surroundings would suddenly dissolve and rearrange themselves into different shapes. "After you'd left, I went up to the training room and was going to close the windows when I saw that…that horrible spider and fell from the beams…it's the last thing I can remember."

"And you nearly smashed your head open," Will finished for me. "The impact would have killed a mundane."

"But I don't understand how I could have gotten here…or even why the windows in the training room were open in the first place. That spider has been following me around everywhere." I tried to stand, but only ended up falling against the wall, half-supported by Jem. My face turned bright red at his touch, and I hoped he would only think it was from embarrassment.

"We can marvel over your ability to appear in seemingly random places later," Will said, stepping back from me and slipping the stele back into his pocket. "We have to go." Now a tinge of urgency had entered his voice. "Trust you to slow us down, future girl."

As he began to walk out of the room, I gasped, my still-spinning mind managing to register the horrifically scuttling shape of the spider, crawling out from under a dusty wardrobe. "Will, look out!" I cried, and he spun around, reacting instantly. His seraph blade speared the spider right in two, and I braced myself for a shower of blood and guts, but the only sound that was made was a high-pitched grinding, squeaking sound, and I could have sworn I saw sparks fly up from the point where the seraph blade had made impact.

Will frowned; he had evidently noticed the same thing I did. Before I could shout out another warning, he pulled up his blade from the floor and poked at the spider, which was now splayed across the floor, its many eyes staring blankly at me.

"It's clockwork," Will muttered, a brief flash of confusion crossing his face. Jem looked just as puzzled.

_Clockwork. _Just like the automatons. Had the spider in the motel and the one at the Pandemonium Club been clockwork as well? And if they were, why was it following me? How did it have the ability to transport me from one place to another? And—my heart contracted—had _it _been the thing that created the Portal? Was I now the one who was being led right into a trap?

"We'll bring it back to the Institute and get Henry to have a look at it," Jem said. He was still kneeling beside me, and with a not altogether unpleasant shock I remembered I was still holding his hand. "Can you walk, Abby?" he murmured in my ear.

"I…I hope so." Gritting my teeth, I pushed forward off the wall—but I had moved too fast, and my head was still woozy. This time I fell sideways, staggering right into Jem. It hadn't been intentional, but judging by the brief sneer on Will's face, _he _certainly thought it was.

"Grab my shoulders, Abby," Jem instructed, and I didn't need much encouragement to do so. He leaned over and curled his arms around the back of my knees, lifting me up into the air bridal-style. I gulped—I wasn't afraid that he would drop me; I was afraid that he would notice my heart was pounding furiously. I was gripping Jem's shoulders so tightly that I could see my knuckles turning white, and I hoped that it wasn't hurting him, but he showed no signs of discomfort.

Across the room, Will looked disbelieving. "James, you cannot carry her all the way outside," he pointed out. "Your strength is already weakening."

"She can hardly walk on her own, William. She is still injured," Jem replied, a touch of dark irony to his voice as he followed Will out of the room and into a foyer that would have been grandiose if it wasn't for the air of disuse about the whole place. Cobwebs hung from every crack and corner and I nearly choked at the overpowering scent of mothballs.

As Jem carefully made his way down the spiraling staircase after Will, who was leaping down the steps three at a time, he filled me in on what they had discovered: The Magister wasn't de Quincey after all—he was, in fact, none other than the "foolish mundane" himself, Axel Mortmain. Mortmain had hired the Dark Sisters to train Tessa, and _he'd _been the one to create the clockwork army. He had sent the Enclave on a wild goose chase to de Quincey's and Nate, who had apparently been working for him all along, lured Will and Jem out of the Institute so that it wouldn't be guarded. Mortmain had sent his clockwork automatons to the Institute—using Jem's blood that they had taken during last night's battle—and according to Will, who seemed uncharacteristically agitated, they could be there right now.

But I was still disoriented, and I couldn't find it in myself to be shocked at Nate's betrayal or the fact that a clockwork army could be attacking the Institute. I had a sneaking suspicion that the spider was caught up in all of this, and that whatever it was, it had survived the next century to eventually show up in my motel room. Whether it was the work of Mortmain or someone else, I had no idea—why would Mortmain be interested in me? It was Tessa he wanted—but whatever the spider's purpose was, it had the ability to transport me from one place to another. And I had no idea why it was following me.

"You're lucky that Jem wanted to search the house one more time, future girl," Will called back to me as we emerged out onto the front steps; the mansion was built on a high hill overlooking London, and I could see the dim outlines of the buildings in the distance, covered by the omnipresent smoke and pollution. "He heard a noise from upstairs and insisted on inspecting it."

I mustered up a smile for Jem; despite his insistence that he could carry me, I could tell that he was beginning to run out of stamina: his breathing was coming quicker and his eyes were quickly being swallowed up by silver. "You saved my life again," I said in as grateful a voice as I could manage, allowing him to lift me into the carriage and rest me in the seat. There were light patches of red high up in his cheekbones, which I assumed were the aftereffects of the drug. He had probably taken more of it before he and Will had left for Highgate.

But as Jem went back to speak to his _parabatai_, I noticed I wasn't alone in the carriage: there was a large grey Persian cat curled up inside of a cage on the opposite seat. Its yellow eyes glittered malevolently at me as I stared at it, and it bristled, letting out a soft hiss. I shuddered; I'd never been much of a cat person.

When Jem climbed back into the carriage, he closed the door behind him and the carriage immediately begun to rattle forward. "Where's Will?" I asked, though I certainly wasn't about to complain at his absence.

"He rode ahead on Balios," Jem explained, settling into the seat beside me and crossing his arms over his cane. "Xanthos can pull the carriage perfectly well by himself."

"He went to save Tessa," I mumbled under my breath. Jem's eyebrows knit together in bewilderment, and I quickly cleared my throat, changing the subject. "And the cat?" I pointed at the grey beast, who hissed again at my words, bearing its teeth.

Jem smiled, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "I found him in the house—the Dark Sisters must have been doing experiments on him."

I stared at him for a moment with my mouth open. It was so like _Jem, _to rescue a cat that looked as much like a demon as its owners did. "By the Angel," I laughed, unable to smother my giggles, "Soon you'll be running a Shadowhunter animal sanctuary. I suppose all the pets are going to be just as bad-tempered as this one."

"He is not bad-tempered," Jem argued. "You would be scared, too, if you were locked up in a cage for heaven knows how long, being experimented on with dark magic."

"Yeah, I guess." We lapsed into silence then, and I thought of different ways to broach the topic of what had happened when I'd first woken up. I remembered his quiet gasp, the way he'd been saying my name over and over…"Jem," I finally said, breaking the silence, "You…you thought I was dead back there, didn't you?"

His silver eyes locked onto mine, and he slowly nodded. "I know I should have not been so quick to act. But in that moment, I did not think of whether it was a trap or how you had gotten there. I did not think of the danger we were in. I only thought I had lost you, and it erased everything else in my mind." Jem shuddered slightly, as if the thought of my death was an unbearable one to him.

I stared at him in wonder, unable to believe what I was hearing. "You thought…you had lost _me?_"

He cleared his throat, breaking our gazes. "Yes. I never believed that…that I would live to find a girl whom I cared this deeply and strongly for. Abby, I…" He swallowed hard. "I admire you, in all the ways a man can admire a woman, and in numerous ways deeper than that. It is horribly inopportune of me to think such a thing, but it is the truth—"

"You have feelings for me," I interrupted, and I suddenly realized why Tessa had been so optimistic about me telling him of my own feelings, because she had known something I hadn't. A wave of wonder surged up inside me, wonder mixed with giddiness. In that moment I completely forgot about my injured head and the fact that we could be riding to our deaths right now.

Although I would later play the moment over and over in my mind, I was never sure who reached for who first, only that Jem's lips were suddenly on mine, and I tasted his peculiar scent of burnt paper and foreign spices, and I could feel his heart beating steadily against my chest. I wasn't sure how long the kiss lasted—it was both never-ending and far too short. We both pulled away at the same time, shyness and awe reflected in each other's eyes. "You…you admire me," I spoke first, repeating his words. "God, I…Jem, I've never had a boy…_like _me in this way before. And just after I'd been thinking that I had completely and utterly fallen head over heels for you!"

"Head over heels?" he repeated, amusement flitting across his expression. His eyes shone with muted hope, and for a moment I could have sworn he was perfectly healthy. This time he leaned forward toward me, and I allowed him to softly press his lips to my cheek before he pulled away. "I do believe I need you to teach me your Americanisms, Abby."

"Of course I will," I nodded, but I'd barely paid attention to what he had just said. I would have normally joked about how we had all the time in the world—but we _didn't _have all the time in the world. In fact, we had very little of it. I would have to go back to the future, and he was dying. How much time did we have, truly? "But…Jem, I am from the future. And you are ill." I didn't know how to word my thoughts: was he just looking for a quick relationship, whatever the Victorian term for a one-night stand was? Did he just want to experience this before he—I could barely even think it—died?

The spark slowly disappeared from Jem's face, and my heart sank with it. "Yes," he said quietly, and the atmosphere in the carriage seemed to literally turn colder, as if it was the dead of winter. An invisible barrier had suddenly been erected between us, and I had the horrible sense that I'd said the wrong thing.

When the carriage halted, I stayed frozen, watching him with wide eyes as he opened the door and gathered his cane. "I am terribly sorry, Abby," he said without looking back at me, and all of a sudden he was gone.

"Jem!" I called after him, but I was only speaking to an empty carriage.


	16. Sixteen

**To the anonymous reviewer from 8/12 (well, to everyone really, since I'm sure a lot of you have the same question :D): Yes, there will eventually be sex in the story, but as it's only rated T, I obviously can't go into too much detail. ;) After all, I don't think it would be _too _contradictory of whatever Victorian morals Jem might have, since I am absolutely certain that he and Tessa would have gone all the way in _Clockwork Prince_ if she hadn't knocked over his _yin fin_ box. **

* * *

**S**hock and dismay were coursing through me in equal measures, keeping me rooted to the seat. I stared at the door with what I was sure was an anguished look on my face, held frozen by some invisible force. My heart was still battering against my ribcage as if I'd fought a dozen demons at once.

I had kissed Jem. _And he had kissed me back. _He had said that he admired me in all the ways a man could admire a woman, and "numerous ways deeper than that." What on earth had he meant? Was this standard wording for a Victorian male? In the time I had grown up in, someone's idea of admitting they liked another person romantically was shouting across the room, "Hey, wanna go out?"

_I only thought I had lost you, and it erased everything else in my mind. _

He had said the words that I'd been dreaming about—that he had feelings for me—and what had I done? I had stuffed my foot so far into my mouth that I doubted I could ever get it out. I had stupidly pointed out the problems if we ever attempted to begin a relationship instead of just enjoying the moment. I'd chased him away. He must think that I was completely insane.

The thrill of the moment had disappeared, to be replaced by an empty, hollow feeling, as if my heart had been carved out of my chest and replaced by a wooden substitute. I saw my pale, worried reflection in the glass of the window, and unconsciously reached up to touch my lips, wondering how I could remedy the situation. _Jem, I didn't mean what I was saying. I wanted to know how you felt about it. _No, that sounded too desperate. _I don't care about the problems. Let's make the most of it. _And now _I _sounded like I was only in it for a good time. And if I did broach the topic, how could I be sure he wouldn't just try to be polite when he really thought the opposite? This was the only situation where I envied Tessa; Will certainly wouldn't beat around the bush or attempt to spare her feelings.

_Tessa. _

What in the name of the Angel was I doing, sitting in the carriage brooding while the Institute was possibly under attack? No wonder Jem had run out so quickly—he'd wanted to make sure everything was all right. Perhaps it didn't have anything to do with me after all. He hadn't come back to help me out, so did that mean something was wrong?

As if bringing life to my thoughts, the cat hissed loudly, arching its back and baring yellow teeth at the door. I fumbled for my seraph blade just as the carriage door was nearly yanked off its hinges, rocking from side to side with a great force.

An automaton was standing just outside the carriage, its clawed hand still on the door. It was even less fully-formed than the other ones had been; I could see the mechanisms working and contracting under its clothes. For the first time, with a wave of nausea, I wondered how exactly it had gotten its skin.

But I didn't have time to contemplate; the clockwork monster reached for me, its fingers moving in a sort of grotesque wave, and I did about the only thing I could in that moment: I plunged the seraph blade straight into its chest. As I pulled it out, the automaton staggered backwards, falling off the side of the carriage, and collapsed onto the ground.

All thoughts of my newly-discovered love life banished, I leapt outside, making sure to jump over the lifeless body of the automaton, and took in the scene in front of me, which was a whirlwind of noise. There were at least five more automatons in the yard, but this time there were just as many Shadowhunters helping out. I saw Henry, with his flaming red hair, deftly dismantling one of the taller ones, and tiny Charlotte was taking on two at once. I recognized Jem only by his silver hair, moving so fast that I could barely keep up with him, swinging his cane and dodging out of their reach. Standing next to him, with an automaton's arms wrapped around each of them, were Jessamine and Sophie, both struggling against their bonds. There was no sign of either Will or Tessa anywhere.

Movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention, and I saw a blonde man tearing as fast as he could away from the fighting, a small wooden box I recognized as the Pyxis—which was used to trap demon energies—tucked under his arm. In a sudden rush of adrenaline, I ran toward him, hoping to intercept his path.

Nathaniel Gray skidded to a stop to avoid me, attempting to dodge my grasp, but I stuck out my foot and he tripped, sprawling across the grass and landing unceremoniously on his behind. The Pyxis went flying from his hands, and I snatched it up before he could react, walking quickly backwards as he struggled to his feet. His eyes narrowed when he saw that I was holding it, and I looked around for assistance, but the others were all still too preoccupied in their own situations.

"Give it back, Shadowhunter," he snarled, his hair disheveled and falling around his face.

My next words tumbled out of my mouth before I could even think about what I should say. "That's strange—I seem to remember that the Pyxis can only be opened _by_ Shadowhunters. What good is it going to do you? You're just a mundane." I was surprised at the contempt I could inject into the last word, and immediately felt a stab of guilt as I thought of my mother.

Nate had a horrible smirk on his face—in my experience, or rather, in the movies I'd seen, this usually meant that they knew something you didn't, which was confirmed a second later when my back slammed into the stone wall—as he cornered me, his eyes sparking wickedly. "Mortmain has powers that you cannot dream of. The energy in this box will be used to animate the automatons, making them nearly impossible to destroy. And if you give it back to me…" He held out his hand. "I can assure you that there will be no more spiders following you."

My eyes widened and I was caught off-guard. "You know about the spiders?" I asked. Behind him, the others appeared to have nearly defeated the army of automatons—I hoped it would be sooner rather than later and that someone would notice me.

"Of course," Nate replied. "I was the one who sent them after you in the Pandemonium Club."

This time my mind went completely blank, washed clean of any coherent thought. "You…you what?" I choked, but instead of giving a proper answer, Tessa's brother threw himself at me, one arm still outstretched and grazing my shoulder.

I dove out of the way, gripping onto the wall for support as the pain in my head flared up again. Nate had ripped a piece of fabric off my gear, but I couldn't afford to worry about that right now. In a moment of sheer adrenaline, I tossed the Pyxis as far away as I could, where it soared in a high arc over the gate and disappeared into the shrubbery lining the road.

Nate let out a howl of rage as soon as he realized what I had done, clenching his bleeding hands into fists. "You'll pay for that, you little bitch," he hissed, and smacked me across the face. Stunned, I reeled backward, my hands covering my nose. I could already feel blood begin to pour out of it, but I barely noticed the pain. "Abby!" I dimly heard someone call—Charlotte? Jem?—but I didn't take my eyes off Nate.

He advanced on me again, raising his arm, but this time I was ready. I swung my leg out, catching him right in the groin, and shoved him away as hard as I could. He yelled in pain and doubled over, and I took this opportunity to kick him again, this time in the chest. I caught a flash of blue as he looked up at me, and the hatred in his eyes reminded me so much of Will that I paused, momentarily frozen.

Then the world shifted back into focus, and Nate was suddenly up against the wall, struggling to move, but it wasn't me who had put him there.

It was Jem.

Although his face was streaked with blood, his arms were shaking, and the circles under his eyes had bypassed purple and gone straight to black, there was no mistaking the rage in his eyes. He had a scythe pointed at Nate's throat, the tip just breaking the skin. "As incredibly dense as you have already proven yourself to be, I am quite sure that you know what will happen if this goes through your neck," Jem said, and his voice wasn't wavering in the slightest. "I assure you that if you ever touch Abby or anyone else at the Institute again, your punishment will be such that you will wish you had died right here and now."

"Jem," I managed to croak even through my broken nose. This was a side of him I had never seen before; a side that I had never known even existed. I would have expected Will to behave like that, but not Jem.

Nate was laughing. He seemed completely unperturbed by Jem's threat. "And who is going to punish me?" he jeered. "Certainly not _you_—you look as if you won't even survive the night!" As if proving his point, he lashed out, forcing the seraph blade away from his throat and back onto Jem, where, taken by surprise, it plunged right into Jem's hand.

He sank to the ground, weak from blood loss and exhaustion and unable to fight back. Seizing his chance, Nate began to run, dashing through the open gate and disappearing out of sight. But now I had all but forgotten about him—my only focus was on Jem. I dropped to my knees beside him as he yanked the blade out of his hand with a wince of pain.

Without thinking about what I was doing, I grabbed his hand and pressed my own tightly over the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. His tired eyes looked up at me, lingering on my nose. "Abby, you are injured worse than I am," he said, but his voice was quiet and weak.

I tried to shake my head, but that only made my head hurt even more. Trying to stop the dizziness, I leaned forward and put my head against his shoulder, as I had done in the carriage on the way back from de Quincey's, unsure whether the blood I was now soaked in was mine or his.

It was then that I finally understood I did not just have "feelings" for Jem Carstairs, like a little girl with a crush.

I was falling in love with him.

* * *

"How long do you think the funeral will last?" I asked, drawing my legs up under me and leaning back into the armchair. It was an unusually sunny day for London, sunlight pouring in through the great picture windows of the library and congealing in bright puddles on the floor.

"Sophie said a few hours at the most," replied Tessa. She was curled up in the window seat, a well-worn book in her lap and her finger on the page she had been reading. I noticed she kept glancing outside, as if expecting the carriage to appear at any moment.

It had been four days since Mortmain's attack on the Institute, and though he hadn't managed to capture Tessa or bring the Institute to its knees, he still had struck great blows against the Shadowhunters, most notably the loss of Thomas and Agatha—I still shook with anger when I thought about their deaths. They had been such good, kind people, and my eyes had filled with tears when I'd heard the news. I hadn't known either of them for very long, but their needless deaths had struck home to me just how perilous this new world was.

I could tell that Tessa was shaken even more than I was by Nate's betrayal. I didn't blame her—she, like me, was completely alone now, only she had to deal with the consequences of having her last remaining family member deceive her. I hadn't told her about fighting with him in the courtyard; I'd pretended that one of the automatons had fractured my nose. She was already feeling so guilty about Thomas and Agatha, believing that it was her fault so much harm had come to the Institute. I knew that Tessa would blame herself for what Nate had done to me if she ever found out what had really happened.

The others were at the funeral in the Silent City, leaving the Institute empty except for Tessa, Sophie, and I. Sophie and Tessa were forbidden to attend because they were not Shadowhunters, and as I turned out to have a mild concussion and a fractured nose the Silent Brothers had advised me to stay in bed for several days. Today, in fact, was the first day I had left my room, at Tessa's urging. She had been my main visitor while I was bedridden, closely followed by Charlotte and Sophie. Will had even walked in once, a gesture that I was sure had more to do with Jem's prodding than his own decision. He had stood at the foot of my bed for a moment, apparently biting back any number of scathing comments, before finally settling on saying, "You did better than I expected you would, future girl."

"Um," had been my first response, followed by the question of, "Thank you?" But Will hadn't elaborated before he'd turned around and strode out, and I hadn't seen him since then.

To my disappointment, Jem hadn't visited me that much more often than Will had. The conversations between us had been awkward and stilted, neither of us bringing up any mention of our confessions or brief kiss in the carriage. It had been superficial, everyday talk, politely inquiring how the other was faring. Once or twice I had been tempted to just knock down the elephant in the room and ask him outright if he regretted what he had said, but I never did. I was too afraid of the answer.

At least one good outcome had emerged out of this entire mess: after spending long hours toiling over the clockwork spider the boys had salvaged from the Dark Sisters', Henry had informed me that it was completely destroyed and he doubted not even demon energy could reanimate it. I had been immensely relieved and reassured by his words, but there were still unanswered questions that not even he could answer: Why had it been after me in the first place? Nate had neglected to mention _that _tiny detail. And how had it transported me from the training-room to Highgate? What had its purpose been, if it even had one?

I'd confessed this to Charlotte the previous day, staring down at my hands and unable to look her in the eye. "I'm sure that the clockwork spider is connected to Mortmain somehow. If it could find a way to get into the Institute, the other automatons can as well."

But Charlotte had comforted me, saying that the spider was gone and Mortmain would have other ways to get inside if he really needed to rather than relying on one of his automatons. I was sure I had sounded like Tessa at that point, apologizing that I had put everyone in danger and I should be sent away. "Abby, you are staying here until we find a way to get you back home, and that is final," Charlotte had said firmly, forcing me to meet her eyes. "Please do not blame yourself for anything. You have displayed greater bravery than anyone ever expected of an untrained Shadowhunter, especially one of your age."

Her soothing words had already begun to wear off, though, and I was struck with self-doubt again. "Tessa," I began, cringing a little at the sound of my own hoarse voice. She glanced up from her book, her grey eyes wide as if I had caught her deep in thought, but I could tell she hadn't actually been reading since her eyes weren't moving across the page. "When Jem brought you to Blackfriars Bridge, what was it that he said about me?"

She didn't look surprised at all by my sudden question; I supposed that it would take more than that to shock Tessa Gray now. After a moment of deliberation, she slowly replied, "He mentioned that he holds you in great regard and he thinks of you in ways he has never thought about a girl before, but he is hesitant to pursue any kind of courtship because of your respective situations. He does not wish to hurt you in any way or force you to think of him romantically if you do not want to. But…he wants you to love him, Abby. He wants it more than anything in the world." She looked half-apologetic, as if she knew everything that had happened.

"He wants me to love him," I repeated, unable to deny that the words gave me a thrill throughout my entire body. During the past days, I'd had a lot of time to ponder the meaning of love, what it entailed, and how it related to what I felt for Jem. I had come to the conclusion that if our relationship, or whatever it was, kept on its current course, I would be deeply in love with him in no time. After all, Shadowhunters formed quicker and deeper bonds than mundanes, as he himself had told me.

"He is a wonderful soul and very handsome, at that," Tessa added, a tiny smile playing at her lips. "A courtship would make both of you happy."

"I know," I admitted, closing my eyes in defeat, "But it would be very difficult. I don't know if I would be able to go back to my time in the case I became too attached, or how I would react if he ever…" I trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. _If he ever died._

"Perhaps it is a risk worth taking," Tessa argued. She was leaning forward now, a strand of hair falling over her face and her lips pursed in that characteristically determined expression. "You both care deeply about each other, so why not take advantage of such a realization? Jem truly deserves happiness."

"But what if I'm not the right person to give that to him?" I couldn't help but ask, caught in my spiral of self-doubt. "I'm just…just Abby. I'm about the most boring, ordinary person you could ever meet."

"And yet you are one of the most _interesting _Shadowhunters I have met," Tessa said firmly, as if this decided the matter.

I grinned ruefully, allowing myself to believe that she was being honest. "When I first woke up in the Dark Sisters' mansion, Jem was holding me. He thought that I was dead at first, and Will snapped at him to get away in case it was a trap, but…he didn't. It made me realize that maybe…he cares for me in the same way I care for him." Haltingly, I told her about our conversation in the carriage, the kiss, and my disastrous words afterwards. Tessa looked affronted on Jem's behalf for the entire story.

"Abby, you must tell him it was a misunderstanding," she urged. "You made it seem as if you were stating you did not care for him romantically." She blinked, as if she had just come back to Earth. "Forgive me, I should not be so forward. It is your decision, and I should not interfere."

"Tessa, it's fine," I said. "I wanted your advice, actually. And I do want to begin a relationship with Jem, if that's even possible. I know that it's likely wrong in a thousand different ways, and Charlotte would banish me from the Institute if she ever found out, but I can't help it."

"Charlotte would never banish you," Tessa assured me. "In fact, I think she would be thrilled that you are such a good influence on Jem."

"And _I _think she would be thrilled if she knew the influence you have had on Will," I not-so-smoothly reverted the conversation to her. "Whatever front he puts up, he cares for you, Tess. He is excellent at hiding things, but he can't seem to manage it when it comes to you."

"Does he?" she echoed doubtfully. "When I myself woke up after Changing into that woman to save myself from Mortmain, he was cradling me just as you described Jem holding you. But as soon as he learned that I was all right, he nearly ran away. He has not spoken to me since."

It appeared that I wasn't the only one who was currently experiencing relationship problems. "Have you asked him about it?"

Tessa shook her head. "I would like to, but I fear that I will not be at the Institute for much longer."

A sense of panic rushed through me as I contemplated losing who was quite possibly the closest female friend I had ever made. "Charlotte won't make you leave," I said. "She knows that what happened isn't your fault."

"But what if it is?" Tessa asked, her voice barely above a whisper. I could sense her reluctance in divulging such a thought to me, but her desperation to talk to someone about it. "I have brought nothing but harm upon the Institute. I am not even a Shadowhunter."

"It would hardly be any wiser to throw you out onto the street," I pointed out. "Mortmain wants something from you, and we know that his goal is to destroy the Nephilim. Making you leave would be as good as a death sentence for everybody. Besides…Mortmain cannot win this war, or the Shadow World of 1978 would not be as stable as I can assure you it is." I smiled thinly. "I know you will survive this, Tessa."

"You do?" she asked dully, but unable to hide the spark of interest in her eyes.

"Yes. I once saw you in San Francisco with Magnus Bane."

Tessa's eyes widened in wonder. Before I could elaborate, the library doors swung open behind us and I spun around guiltily, ready to run away from Will. But it was only Charlotte; she looked more tired and worn than I had ever seen her. She'd changed out of her mourning dress and now looked as respectable as any Victorian lady. "Good afternoon," she said, nodding her head at us. "I take it you are feeling better, Abby?"

"Much better," I assured her. "I should be able to begin training again soon."

"Spoken like a true Shadowhunter," Charlotte responded, smiling genuinely at me before turning to Tessa. "Would you mind if I had a word? There is something I wish to discuss with you."

"Of course not," Tessa answered, and since I hadn't been included in Charlotte's request, I guessed that it was time to leave. Giving Tessa what I hoped was a reassuring smile, I slowly stood up, making sure not to set off any sudden spurts of dizziness, and walked back through the library, past the towering bookshelves and the lunar tables, the globes that sparkled with sunlight and the cabinets filled with various odds and ends.

When I emerged out into the darkened hallway, pulling the doors shut behind me, I had to stand still for a moment, letting my eyes adjust after the blinding brightness of the library. The faint sounds of music reached my ears, and I strained to hear it properly. But it wasn't a violin, as I'd become so accustomed to hearing during all hours of the day and night. It was a piano, and I found myself rooted to the spot, feeling a slight twinge of jealousy at whoever could play the instrument so beautifully.

But I was certain I knew exactly who the musician was—who else would even touch the piano?—and I tentatively walked down to the music room, stopping in the doorway and folding my arms, as if hugging myself.

Unlike Charlotte, Jem hadn't changed out of his mourning clothes. The red runes were bright against his skin, and he'd pushed his sleeves back to his elbows. His hand was still tightly wrapped in a bandage where Nate had stabbed him.

"Abby," he said without turning around. "Abby, is that you?"

"Yes," I replied, smiling gently.

"I hoped you would come," he said shyly. The music stopped, the note dying off into silence, and he turned around on the bench, a warm smile on his features. There was nothing in his gaze to suggest that he was still feeling uncomfortable around me.

I stepped forward, my legs moving of their own accord, propelling me toward the bench. Jem had moved over to give me room, and I sat down before I was fully aware of what I was doing. I was reminded of the first days I had been at the Institute, when we had been sitting next to each other in this very spot, our legs brushing, and I'd felt a spark of something that I hadn't understood until now. I had liked Jem from the start, but I had certainly never envisioned I would become _this _intertwined with him.

"You play much better than I do," I confessed, pressing one of the keys at random and listening to the single, mournful note pierce the air.

Modest as ever, Jem shook his head. "You taught me," he reminded me, and we shared a grin. I remembered what Tessa had said—that he wanted me to love him—and took a deep breath, wanting to ease the tension between us, even if it was only in my imagination.

"Jem," I said, hoping he wouldn't notice how my voice shook when I said his name. He looked quizzically at me, and I mentally prepared myself to bring up the subject—before failing miserably. "How was the funeral?"

He immediately turned somber, and a tiny, selfish part of me pretended that it was because I hadn't asked him the question he'd really wanted. "It was…difficult," he replied. "Thomas and Agatha were like family to me—to all of us."

Oh, by the Angel. Now I was making things even worse. I had to fix things before I completely chickened out. How should I broach the topic?

_We need to talk—_no, that sounded too much like my mother. _I want you to kiss me again. _God_, _that was even worse.

But, of course, the answer I blurted out was far from perfect. "Jem," I said again, wincing, "I want to apologize to you for what happened in the carriage. It was my fault. I shouldn't have said what I did."

His mouth opened slightly in astonishment, staring wide-eyed at me. What had I done?


	17. Seventeen

**So we are officially finished with _Clockwork Angel_ after this chapter! *throws confetti* I'll try to jump right into the events of _Clockwork Prince _in the next update.**

**A lot of people have been mentioning the fact that Abby and Jem's relationship is already doomed, because Brother Zachariah isn't cured until 2008. Well-yes, that's true, but then again Abby was not in the original series, either! ;) Part of my reason for writing this fic was to explore how the addition of one character can change the course of the story. However, that also does _not_ mean Abby is going to find the cure for him and they are going to live happily ever after! Many things can (and will) happen...the main focus, however, is going to be on their relationship in 1878.**

* * *

**J**em didn't speak for a long time, casting his gaze downwards so I couldn't see his expression. I wasn't even sure I wanted to. "Abby," he said softly, and I shivered involuntarily at the sound of my name. How was it that such a normal word sounded so different on his lips? "You should not apologize because you do not return my feelings. It is my fault for taking such liberties."

Now I was thoroughly taken aback. "When did I ever say I didn't return your feelings? I was apologizing because I completely ruined the moment between us. If anything, the blame lies on me."

He looked up, something like hope beginning to dawn in his eyes. "I believed you regretted what had happened between us in the carriage, but did not want to appear rude. I left so you did not have to make that choice."

"No!" I exclaimed. "That's not it at all. Jem, I—I said that I had fallen head over heels for you. In my time, that means you have fallen in love. It was me who thought that you hadn't meant what you said. I thought you were just in the heat of the moment, when you were really thinking about the fight. It's just…it's just that no one has ever said that to me before, and I had no idea how to react. I _do _have feelings for you. I've never been this…this fascinated by anyone before."

He reached up and gently tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, letting his fingers brush my cheek, and I automatically lifted my hand to hold him there, relishing the way his skin burned into mine. "Please believe me when I say that I have never cared about anyone else in this way before, Abby. But…I cannot court you in the way a normal man would. It would be nothing more than selfish for me to ask you to become chained to a dying boy."

"I don't care," I said fiercely, barely breathing. If I'd understood him correctly, he was just as infatuated with me as I was with him. To put it in modern slang, screw the circumstances. "I have to go back to the future sometime, too. I can't stay like this forever, just as you cannot. All that matters is that we are here, in this moment. Please don't worry about 'courting' me or whatever the word for it is—I don't even know what you mean by that. There is no point in worrying about the future if it has not even happened yet." _At least for you._

Jem looked slightly awed; he slowly lowered his hand from my face, and I could feel his breathing coming quicker against my skin. "Are you...are you sure? The sacrifices you will have to make—it is a lot to ask."

"Not for you." I knew as I said the words that they were true. I didn't care what I had to give up if it meant that I could be with Jem, even for a very brief period of time. But neither of us voiced the words we were both thinking: this would only last until he died or I had to go back to 1978.

Carefully, as if not wanting to startle me, Jem leaned forward and lowered his head so that our foreheads were touching. I closed my eyes, scooting the last few centimeters between us on the bench and placing my hand on top of his.

"_Wǒ zǒng shì xiǎng nǐ,"_ Jem whispered. "I can't stop thinking about you, Abby. Even when you first arrived at the Institute, I wanted to make sure you were all right." He grinned ruefully. "Charlotte saw me standing outside your door that first night. I think she saw what was going to occur even before we did. She is a remarkably intelligent woman. That's why she wanted Will to be our chaperone. She trusts me, but she wanted to make sure you felt comfortable."

"As if Will could make anyone feel comfortable," I muttered, and Jem shook against me as he laughed.

Neither of us noticed the large grey shape slink into the room and watch us, tail swishing back and forth, before a plaintive meow jerked us both apart, where my back hit the piano guiltily, sending several disjointed notes into the air.

It took me a minute to realize that it was just the new cat, Church, who had been skulking around the Institute since Jem had rescued him. His accusing eyes stared up at me malevolently, and I had the strange feeling he had disturbed us on purpose.

"The cat," I managed to say, pointing down at Church, who had trotted up to Jem and begun to purr loudly.

Jem laughed, reaching down to stroke his fur. "He is very pushy. I believe he feels as if he is the new head of the Institute."

Something brushed against my legs, and I looked down to see Church weaving his way around my dress. I cautiously reached down to stroke him, and he arched his back, purring, before abruptly deciding he'd had enough and running out of the room as silently as he'd arrived. I watched him leave in astonishment, my hand still poised in the air.

"Cats certainly have a mind of their own," Jem said, and I jumped; I hadn't realized he'd gotten off the bench and walked over to stand behind me.

"Definitely," I agreed, but I was hardly thinking about Church anymore. I was wondering if we would have kissed if we hadn't been interrupted. Where did our—relationship?—friendship?—stand now? We had both admitted we had feelings for each other and that we would try to make as much of it count as we could in the limited time that we had. So what was I supposed to do now?

"Jem," I asked quietly, turning around so that I could see his face, "You don't think that I'm…I'm changing the future in any way, do you?"

His face turned solemn, and he was quiet for a long time before speaking. "My father had a book on such a theory," he explained. "It was a mundane book, but it contained some very useful information. In it, the author suggested there were two theories that could occur if time travel were ever invented. The first one explained that if someone were to go back in time and kill their past self, or were killed themselves, the universe would collapse in on itself, therefore causing a loop that would ensure they were never born in the first place. Of course, since you are alive, that is impossible. The second theory is that the past can never be altered, and that whatever happened in the past shall happen, and nothing can change it."

I let out a shaky breath. "Let's hope the second theory is true, then. It's just something I've been worrying about for a long time. I mean…it's strange to think that where I come from, all of this has already happened. Or that I've already _been _here, a hundred years before I was born." I grinned ruefully. "I'm sorry, that didn't make sense at all."

"I think it makes perfect sense," Jem said serenely. He was still standing behind me, his breath tickling the back of my neck. "You have adjusted marvellously well, Abby. You are stronger than you believe you are. Not so many could have gone through such an ordeal and are still fighting."

"What other choice do I have?" I sighed.

"You can choose to keep yourself locked up in your room and refuse to talk to anyone," Jem said quietly. "Like Jessamine. But you don't. You say you are weak, Abby, but I have not seen any evidence to prove that so far. Sometimes it is only when we face the greatest trials that we truly know ourselves."

Before I could answer, there was a soft creaking on the floor outside of the music room and Tessa walked in, although she didn't appear to see us right away. She was holding the _Codex _with a lost look in her eyes.

"Tessa?" I asked, and her head jerked up guiltily.

"Oh—hello, Abby, Jem," she replied. "I apologize—I was not aware that I was disturbing anyone. I shall find a different place to stay."

Jem stepped forward, agreeable as ever. "Please stay," he said, and I nodded in agreement.

She looked hesitant at first, but eventually came back to us, taking a seat on the floor so that the still-shining sun fell onto her hair and skin. I noticed that she had a freckle on her right hand in the exact same place I did. Jem and I knelt down as well, my skirts spreading across the ground.

"Now," Jem said gently, as if not wanting to upset a frightened animal, "What is bothering you? I can see you are upset."

Now she looked a bit surprised. "How can you tell?"

He smiled. "You look exactly the same as Abby does when she is unhappy. What is it, Tessa?"

She glanced down at the pages of the _Codex _in answer. Jem and I scanned them quickly, and I saw that it was opened to the paragraph on the sterility of warlocks.

"I did not know they could not bear children," she said quietly, fiddling with a piece of her hair. "It is not the nature of the statement, exactly, but rather what it means about me. It is as if it is one more thing that sets me apart from the rest of the world."

I began to make a lame reassurance, but luckily Jem beat me to it. "It is not certain," he told her. "We still do not know everything about you. Please do not take this one piece of information as the utmost truth. In fact, no one is sure you are even truly a warlock."

This did not look as if it cheered Tessa up one bit. "There is another thing," she admitted. "If I am not a warlock, what am I? If I _am _a warlock, then who were my parents? Mortmain said my father was a demon, but I cannot imagine my mother allowing such a thing to happen. Did they know something was wrong with me? Why would they leave London? Nate told me that I wasn't…wasn't even his sister."

"They loved you enough to hide you from Mortmain," I pointed out. "And Nate doesn't sound as if he knows any more about anything that's going on than we do. I wouldn't trust anything he says."

Jem had stiffened at the mention of Nate. Remembering the man's words to Jem in the courtyard, I cautiously put a hand on his shoulder. He met my gaze and gave me a quick smile.

This didn't escape the notice of Tessa, who added, "Besides, I am very grateful for your kindness, but I do not feel as if I truly belong at the Institute, no matter how much both of you like to state that we are family of sorts. I am not like one of you. Will made that point very clear." I frowned, and the expression on her face plainly told me that she would elaborate later."

"Ah, Will," Jem sighed as I drew back my hand from him. "What has he done now?"

"He made it quite clear that me staying at the Institute is not a good thing." Tessa ducked her head. "Charlotte wished to tell me that I was welcome to stay here for as long as I wanted. I think I shall, as I have nowhere else to go, nobody who would take me in."

"But you know Will," I pointed out, secretly ecstatic that she was going to stay. "He never says what he really means."

It was Jem, in the end, who convinced her. He reached into his shirt and pulled out the jade pendant I often saw him wearing, shaped like a fist. "Will bought this for me from a shop in the East End when I first came to London and was missing Shanghai, since he knew jade came from China."

"Well," Tessa said in a small voice, "At least he can be kind to you." I nodded my head in agreement, but I wasn't admittedly surprised. I had never seen Will so much as look at Jem with that hardness I saw in his eyes when he was paying attention to anyone else, even Tessa. There was a bond between the two boys that went much deeper than mere friendship, and perhaps something was even deeper than romantic love as well. I had never seen anything like it, and I doubted I ever would again. It was, I reflected, as if they were two halves of the same person, as opposite as their personalities and appearances were. "Oh, what's the use?" she suddenly cried out. "I shall outlive everyone I know. _Everyone."_

"Tessa, you can't think that way!" I exclaimed, putting my arms around her and stroking her hair like a mother. "You haven't outlived anyone now. What's the use in thinking about the future?"

"You mentioned you saw me in your time," Tessa said morosely, lifting up her face and biting her lip. "Everyone I love will be dead, so I may as well get used to loss now."

This revelation was an obvious shock for Jem; his mouth fell open in an almost comical way as he stared incredulously at me. "You…you did?" he asked, but his question was directed at me.

I nodded, and quickly explained my almost-meeting with Tessa and Magnus Bane when I was younger. His dazed expression didn't disappear—in a strange way, it was if it had finally hit home that I was truly from the future. He muttered something in Chinese that I couldn't quite hear, and I wondered if he was swearing. "Well," he said in a louder voice at my quizzical look, "That doesn't mean you should despair now, Tessa. That will not occur for decades and decades. You shall be a changed person, then. Should we all despair because there is a chance we may outlive our loved ones?" He gave a slight wince, as if he regretted speaking. "Apart from me, of course."

"Jem!" I cried, and even Tessa pulled herself out of her despair to frown at him. "You can't think like that. You were just the one telling_ us_ not to despair."

To my mild surprise, he grinned ruefully at me. "Of course, Abby. You are quite correct. I—"

But he was interrupted by a loud tapping at the window, as if a bird was trying to get in. Tessa was the first one to stand up and walk over to it, but her hand slipped on the latch. Jem graciously got up as well and I followed suit. Bright sunshine poured into the normally dark room, making all of us squint as he opened the window with one hard yank. Tessa immediately reached out and snatched up the small object, which was fluttering madly about the room.

Jem and I shared a puzzled look. "What is it?" I asked, noticing her change of demeanor.

Tessa turned back to us, now with a wide smile that lit up her entire face. "My angel," she said.

* * *

My dreams that night were both beautiful and terrible; dizzying in their detail but horrifying in their content. At first I was standing in a large, airy ballroom, with the walls made of glass and looking out onto the street outside. It didn't look like any country I'd ever heard of, but somehow I knew that this was Alicante, the capital city of Idris. And my mother—how could she be here? Mundanes weren't allowed in the country—was on her knees at the front of the room, her head in her hands as if she was praying or sobbing. She was making choked noises, and as I drew closer I realized that she was screaming my name, over and over.

"Mom!" I cried, and immediately broke into a run, sprinting toward her, but just as she turned around the scene dissolved and I was in a completely different place. This was a room equally as large, but it seemed more forbidding, intimidating somehow, and very old. There was a long table in the middle of the room, and stars painted on the floor. Runes decorated the walls and ceiling, but I was too preoccupied to decipher any of them. Again I saw someone kneeling in the middle of the room, but this time it was my father, his blond hair streaked red with blood and his face dirtied. He was staring up at a Silent Brother. Their hood was pulled up so I couldn't see their face. "Brother Zachariah," my father said, and with a jolt I realized it was the first time I had ever heard his voice—an almost disappointingly ordinary American accent, but colored with worry. "You have to help me. I believe a Greater Demon has placed a curse on my family. I need to contact Marcus and my parents once more. _Please_."

But I didn't hear the Silent Brother's answer, since the surroundings were shifting and blurring yet again.

And lastly, I saw Tessa kneeling in front of the grave which was clearly marked _Will Herondale, _just as it had been in my previous dream, but this time Jem's grave was absent. Her fingers were digging into the grass and tears were streaking down her face; she was in obvious anguish.

Then everything began to fade, slowly, as if I was watching television and the signal was beginning to cut out. I tried to move, but I was frozen in place.

* * *

I shuddered awake, gasping and sweating. The dreams were already slipping away from me even as I came back to the real world, shaking madly. I tried in vain to recall the memory of my father's voice, but I couldn't be sure that it was even his real voice, and there was no way that my mother could be in Alicante. The scenario of Tessa at Will's grave might perhaps be possible, but I doubted Will would allow himself to be buried without his _parabatai _resting right beside him.

I turned over and tried to go back to sleep, but I kept seeing the images flash in front of my eyes: my mother's panic, my father's urgency, Tessa's agony…God, there was no way I was going to get to sleep tonight.

Jem's words from his tour of the Institute came back to me then: _The attic is the best place to get some air if you are feeling claustrophobic. _After a quick glance at my tiny window, I guessed he was right.

After pulling on a dressing-gown and finding a witchlight, I crept out into the hallway. It was so quiet I could hear the blood pounding in my ears. For once, there was no violin to tease the silence. Even Jem must be asleep.

The attic was only a floor above my bedroom; I could feel fresh air as soon as I stepped inside. Unfortunately, I wasn't the only one who had decided to take a midnight stroll.

"What are you doing here, future girl?" Will asked sullenly. I closed my hand over the witchlight so that I couldn't see his sneering face.

"Because I want to be," I replied bravely. Something about not being able to see him gave me courage, as if I was merely thinking the words rather than saying them out loud.

He made a dissatisfied noise, and after a beat of silence I continued, "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Because I want to be," Will echoed. "Now hurry off. It must be past your bedtime."

I narrowed my eyes, although I knew he couldn't see it. "Why are you so cruel to me—to everyone? I don't understand why Jem thinks there is some…inherent goodness in you. You have been nothing but unkind to me, and yet he still thinks I should forgive you."

"Jem does not understand me any more than you do," Will said shortly. "You can think of him as my moral compass, if it makes you feel any better." Now I was sure he was smirking.

But I plunged forth, the questions suddenly spilling out of me now that I had found the nerve. "Are there no brothels or gambling houses open this time of night? Why else would you be in the attic instead of skulking the streets like everyone seems to think you do?"

"You go on about the strangest things, and not in a good way. Has anyone ever told you that?" Will's voice was sharp, cutting across the room like a seraph blade, and I flinched away from him, some of my old instincts rushing back. But I knew I had to stand my ground; if not for my sake, then for Tessa's. After all she had done for me, I was determined that she received some answers of her own.

"Listen, Will, I don't care if you're rude to me. I've met too many people exactly like you for words to have any real effect on me anymore. But I know that there are…others…who care deeply what you think of them, and I suggest that you stop being so unpleasant." I was thinking, of course, about his and Tessa's kiss in this very room earlier today, which she had confided to me after dinner.

"Did Tessa put you up to this?" And then he said, quietly to himself, "No, she wouldn't do that." He cleared his throat, and I was glad I couldn't see his face. "Listen, future girl, being the martyr doesn't suit you. Go back to avoiding my gaze and squeaking whenever I so much as mention you. It's more amusing that way."

"For you, maybe, but not for me." Little did he know that I was secretly inking Strength and Courage runes onto my arms as he spoke, making it much easier for me to say what I really thought. The words were just tumbling out of my mouth now. "Can't you just be civil for one minute?"

"Such unexpected audacity." Now he sounded amused. "Why couldn't you sleep?"

"I was just—" I'd been about to speak before stopping myself. "Never mind." When he didn't answer, I plunged forth anyway, explaining about my dreams—but leaving out the part where Tessa had been at his grave. I supposed not even Will deserved to hear something like that. "Now I'm wondering if I _am _under some sort of curse…it would make sense, and maybe it had something to do with me being sent back in time. I don't know why I would have those dreams, but they've been occurring often."

"You know nothing of curses," Will said, more sharply than I'd expected. I bit my lip, hurt but not surprised at the ice in his tone. "Good night, Abby." I heard his boots stomping across the floor, but he paused when he stopped in front of me. I could feel his gaze boring holes through me even in the darkness.

"Wait," I said, suddenly desperate to fill the silence. "How many tests have I passed?"

"All of them. Even the ones you did not know about." Without seeing his face, I couldn't ascertain his expression, but now I was sure he was smirking. He tugged on my hair in an almost affectionate sort of way, as if I was a little sister, and then I heard his footsteps stomping out of the room as he left.

Will, I was beginning to realize, had a tendency to completely and utterly shock whoever he spoke to—except, perhaps, Jem. I replayed our conversation back over in my head three times, and was still unsure whether he was angry at me or not. When my muscles finally unfroze, I stood up and walked to the open window, staring at the street below illuminated in the moonlight. I half-imagined I could hear a phantom violin playing downstairs, but I knew that it was my over-exhausted brain playing tricks on me, in the same way as I thought I saw someone moving around outside.

_Was _it a hallucination? I leaned farther over the balcony, breathing in the cool night air, and saw that I hadn't been mistaken: a tall, dark figure was striding down the front walk of the Institute, his shoulders braced against the rain that had started to fall. I didn't need a pair of binoculars to know that it was Will, off on whatever midnight walks he went on.

As if he could somehow sense my thoughts, he slowed and turned back to the Institute, as if he was searching for something. I raised my hand, unsure myself why I was doing it. I didn't expect him to respond, but I thought I saw a brief flash of white as he grinned.

And then he was gone, and the iron gate had closed behind him, leaving me alone once again.


	18. Eighteen

**"A**bby, Henry would like to see you in his laboratory." Tessa smiled reassuringly at me, her grey eyes warm and friendly, though not without a hint of concern.

I glanced up from where I'd been lying on my bed, reading my father's journal—it was an invaluable comfort to me, much like her clockwork angel was to her—and somewhat embarrassedly snapped it shut, shoving it under my pillows and standing up. "Thanks, Tessa," I told her as I headed out of the room, pulling my hair up into a bun and deliberately avoiding her gaze. I didn't want to see the worry in her eyes—I was sure she had come to the same conclusion as I had about _why _Henry wanted to see me. He didn't often call people down into his lab for no good reason. And then I was immediately ashamed at myself: a month ago, news about the Portal would have been exactly what I wanted. Had I really been pushing the thought out of my mind that someday I would have to go back to 1978? What did I have there, anyway, aside from my mother? Better yet—if she were here with me, would I even _want _to go back? But my mind, as usual, shied away from the answers. I was pretty sure I knew what they would be.

I'd officially been living at the London Institute for a month, but the thirty days had gone by as quickly as if it had only been half the time. This was largely in part due to the people inside it, and their ways of distracting me—namely, of course, Jem and Tessa, whom I'd both become close with in a way that I had never experienced with anyone before.

Every day, Jem took me on an extensive tour of London, covering a different place each time—including, but not limited to, Hyde Park, the National Gallery, the British Museum, Kew Gardens, the Tower of London (my personal favorite), Traitors' Gate, St. James's Park, and Covent Garden. Tessa joined us on most of these excursions as well, and we gladly welcomed her along. When she had first arrived at the Institute, I had seen her as a rival of sorts for Jem; it had been a childish, girlish jealousy. Only now was I beginning to see how foolish I'd been. Not only was Tessa the best female friend I'd ever had, and my guide of sorts to the Victorian period—she never hesitated to tell me when I did something completely out of time and place, and was herself eager to learn more about the future—she helped me through my conflicted feelings about Jem. She herself was struggling with her caring for Will, who had been nothing but moody and silent to her since they had reportedly kissed, and we often exchanged advice, although neither of us were particularly good at it.

Despite the fact that we had both admitted our feelings for each other, Jem and I still hadn't even mentioned our precarious relationship, much less kissed again, in the time that had elapsed since our talk in the music room. I knew that neither of us wanted to rush into anything, since we were both practical and pragmatic for the most part, but on the other hand there just wasn't enough _time, _and more than once I had just wanted to grab him by the shoulders and kiss him full on the mouth. We were both testing the waters, I supposed, and perhaps his showing me around London was a sort of courtship method. But even so, I had absolutely no idea what I was supposed to expect with him, and when I'd confided this to Tessa she had merely sighed, saying that we were both too hesitant to broach the subject of anything more than a friendship.

But my confused and complicated feelings for Jem were, at the moment, the least of my worries. Mortmain and Nate—who had somehow managed to find the Pyxis from where I had thrown it into the shrubbery—still hadn't been tracked down, and earlier that morning we had all attended a Clave meeting, where Charlotte and Henry were put in charge of the investigation into Mortmain's whereabouts. Benedict Lightwood would become Head of the Institute if he was not found within two weeks. It was clear that it was both a punishment and a test for Charlotte, and therefore all the residents of the Institute, even moody Jessamine, had spent the afternoon searching old newspaper records for anything that might pertain to him in some way. Unluckily, we hadn't been successful.

Everything was happening in two-week increments, I thought idly. It had been two weeks from my arrival in 1878 to when Tessa had arrived, two weeks between then and now, and Charlotte had two weeks to find Mortmain. Maybe in two weeks after _that,_ I would get to go home. The thought gave me a twisting feeling in my stomach that wasn't entirely pleasant.

"Abby!" I heard my name being called across the corridor, and I paused with one hand on the railing, turning back to see a slight, silvery-haired figure walking toward me; I hadn't even heard his pursuit. A brief wave of embarrassment washed over me—Jem and I hadn't often been alone since that day in the music room, and I was never sure what to say when I was alone with him for fear of breaking the tension that had steadily built up between us for the past fortnight. But my uncertainty was quickly forgotten when I saw that he was leaning on his cane—it had been nearly a week since I'd last seen him with it.

"Hello, Jem," I said as formally as I could, mustering up a smile.

He stopped on the step above mine; with a flash of worry I noticed that he was more ashen and unsteady than usual. "I'm feeling a bit tired today and Charlotte suggested that I go for a walk. Would you like to come along?"

"Oh," I sighed, sure my disappointment was written all over my face, "I'd love to, but Henry called me down to his lab. I don't think I'll be very long, but maybe Tessa would like to go."

I saw Jem's face fall almost imperceptibly; I wondered if he had come to the same conclusion as I had for the reason Henry wanted to talk to me. "I can go with you if you want," he offered, and for a moment I considered asking him to come down with me. But I didn't want to face his pity if Henry really _had _created the Portal, and I didn't want him to see my disappointment if he hadn't.

"Thanks for offering, Jem, but I think I'll be fine," I told him. "I'll come and find you later, all right?"

"Of course," Jem said gallantly, taking a step back. I saw that his knuckles were tight on the handle of his cane, and I briefly considered telling him to take a nap, since he was looking even more exhausted than Charlotte lately, but I didn't want to sound like I was nagging. Instead I turned around and continued to head on my way, hyperaware of his eyes on me as I left.

* * *

Despite it being late June, it was freezing in the crypt, although part of it was likely my imagination. I shivered and drew my shawl tighter around me as I hopped down the last of the stairs into the laboratory, idly wondering how Henry could stand the cold in the winter.

At first glance, the room appeared to be empty, although the tables were covered in objects that were whizzing or squeaking or making some other equally distracting noise. Henry was nowhere to be seen. After standing awkwardly in the middle of the room for a moment, I cleared my throat and was about to call out for him when in the air in front of me flared up with a sudden bright blue light, so brilliant that I staggered backward and had to cover my eyes. It appeared a perfect replica of the Portal I had seen in the desert at first, but as my eyes adjusted to the light I saw that the air wasn't shimmering as much, and I didn't feel that reckless desire to jump inside as I had previously.

"I think I've almost got it, Abby!" Henry exclaimed from behind me. I turned to see him hurrying up from some dark corner, his ginger hair singed but his eyes bright and eager. "I've been using the runes from the Gray Book, but I can't seem to find any that fit exactly right. Can you remember anything else about the Portal, anything at all?"

I struggled to cast my mind back a month, which was surprisingly difficult. My memories all appeared to be crammed with events from the past four weeks. "Um, I think the door was larger. And it shimmered…and as strange as it sounds, it had a sort of magnetic pull to it."

Henry's face drooped and I instantly felt sorry for him. No doubt he had been working through all hours of the day and night to try to figure out the exact formula. I glanced over at the table and saw all manner of complicated mathematical formulas and figures scattered over its surface. The pieces of the clockwork spider that Will had managed to salvage from the Dark Sisters' mansion in Highgate were piled up on an adjoining surface.

"The spider had a tracking charm placed on it," Henry explained, following my gaze. "That's how it always managed to find you no matter where you were. I suspect it was running on something akin to demon energies."

I bit my lip. _What about at the motel? How could it—or some other spider—follow me there? Had Mortmain made more of them? _"Henry—" I began, but cut myself off when I saw Charlotte standing in the entrance to the room.

"Benedict Lightwood would like to speak to you, Abby," she said. Her face was pale and drawn, but determined. "He is in the drawing-room."

"_Me?" _I asked in astonishment. "Why does he want to speak to me?"

"He did not divulge the reason for his visit," Charlotte replied. With a last glance and an apology at Henry, who looked disappointed, I quietly left the lab, walking back upstairs and listening to the low murmur of them talking—what about, I had no idea. I just wished Charlotte had kept me company.

Jem had unfortunately disappeared when I found myself above ground again, and with a set jaw I walked to the drawing-room, my mind mulling over all the reasons why Benedict Lightwood would conceivably want to talk to me. Was he trying to use me to get to Charlotte? Granted, I _was _probably the Institute's weakest point at this moment, but surely he would think of less obvious ways to worm his way inside…

Benedict was standing in the middle of the room when I arrived, his lip curled disdainfully as if he didn't want to get too close to anything in it. When I stepped inside, he merely looked impatient, as if he'd been waiting there for a long time. "There you are, Miss Cartwright," he said. "I have been meaning to speak to you for a time, but it has never been convenient until now."

I wasn't sure what my appropriate response should be, so I settled for smiling thinly and saying rather lamely, "Well, I'm here now. What do you want to speak to me about?"

Benedict's eyebrows raised slightly, and he looked displeased as he replied, "It is a rather…delicate matter. I would prefer it if we were to discuss it in the library."

I blinked in surprise, half-looking around as if someone would pop out of thin air and help me. But none came, of course, and I was left on my own.

"Of course," I said after another moment. Before I could move to open the door, Benedict was already striding forward, walking down the corridor as if _he _was the head of the Institute. I quickly gathered up my skirts and hurried after him, sure that it wouldn't reflect well on Charlotte if one of her own wards couldn't even show a guest to the library.

To make matters even worse, who should I run right into but Will, standing at the entrance to the library. Benedict barely gave him a cursory nod as he strode past, and Will's gaze slid from him to me, where he raised one eyebrow, clearly demanding an explanation.

"He wanted to speak to me," I told him, trying to inch past. Will, however, stayed firmly in place.

"About what?" he asked none too kindly. "Your mutual adoration of literature? Shall you recommend Shakespeare or Coleridge to him? Personally, I would suggest something a little less advanced, such as _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_—"

"Miss Cartwright," Benedict's voice drawled from inside, "Unlike certain other Shadowhunters who can sit in the library all day or claim to be ill for weeks on end, I cannot afford to be kept waiting."

Will's face turned a bright shade of scarlet in anger, and I took this opportunity to slip past him and push the door shut behind me. I had to admit, it felt very satisfying closing a door right in Will Herondale's face.

Benedict was standing in front of the bookshelf that housed all the volumes of Shadowhunter histories and genealogy, running a long finger over their spines. "Sit," he ordered, as if I were a guest in _his _Institute.

"What is it, sir?" I asked tentatively, gripping the sides of the armchair and hoping my fear wasn't too obvious. His smooth expression betrayed nothing.

"I was just curious to know what your father's name was," he said in an even, smooth voice, with no inflection or tone at all to it. His interest sounded merely clinical.

My mouth went very dry and I swallowed hard, frantically trying to remember what my cover story was. What had I told the Cartwrights? "His name was Albert," I replied, my voice cracking with nerves. "Albert Cartwright."

"And your mother?"

"Estelle…Townsend."

Benedict turned from his perusal of the books and stared coldly at me, his green eyes as lifeless as the vampires had looked at de Quincey's. "That is strange," he said in a musing tone. "According to the records, the last Cartwright to visit America was named Samuel, three decades ago. He never married and died twenty-five years ago."

"Perhaps my parents weren't on the records," I answered, trying to sound convinced and failing. How much had he found out?

Benedict looked coldly amused, his mouth twisting into a slight smirk. "Perhaps," he repeated, "But I think it is more likely that you were taken in by Charlotte by some illegal means and she fabricated a cover story for you, since you resemble that family. Does that sound more familiar?"

I didn't dare to answer this time. He was obviously trying to twist the blame on Charlotte so that the Clave could find something else to fault her with. Since the circumstances of my arrival were vague at best, of course he would assume that she had something to do with it.

Unfortunately, Benedict saw right through my poor attempt at nonchalance and his smirk grew even wider, like a cat that had swallowed the canary. "Your silence is answer enough, Miss _Cartwright_," he said disparagingly. "I want to know who you are, why you lied about your parents, and why Charlotte took you in. Is it because you know something she doesn't, perhaps about Mortmain? It is not often that American girls, and untrained Nephilim at that, arrive in London without so much as a pence to their name and with no other family. You have come to the country for a reason."

"I…I don't know what you're talking about," I managed to say, but didn't dare to meet his eyes. "…Sir."

"Would you say the same if you were holding the Mortal Sword?" he asked quietly. "I can take you to the Silent City right now and learn the truth—"

The library doors swung open and I leapt out of the armchair, nearly falling into the fireplace in shock. Will strode in first, closely followed by Jem, who was still leaning on his cane. I felt a heady rush of gratefulness to both of them—I'd never been so happy to see Will before.

"Our apologies for interrupting your pleasant chat," said Will, grabbing me by the elbow and pulling me away from Benedict, "But Abby is quite busy at the moment helping us search for Mortmain—I'm sure you can understand. If there is anything you wished to ask her, Charlotte would be more than happy to answer you."

Benedict's lip was now curled in disgust. He shoved the book he had been holding back onto the shelf and started toward us. Will yanked on my arm yet again and dragged me out of the library into the corridor next to Jem.

"I see," Benedict said in a soft voice, looking back and forth between the three of us. "Yes, I shall ask Charlotte that very question. Good day, Mr Herondale, Mr Carstairs, and Miss…Cartwright. Give my regards to the warlock girl." He pushed past Jem as he retreated, his elbow shoving right into Jem's chest. I was close enough that I could hear Jem's slight gasp of pain, and glanced worriedly at him, seeing that he'd doubled over slightly.

Will watched him until he'd disappeared out of sight, his fists clenched. I reached out and curled my fingers around Jem's wrist, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He smiled tiredly at me.

"Were you listening to the conversation?" I asked, unable to stop myself from narrowing my eyes at Will, who looked completely unabashed.

"What else would you have us do, future girl?" Will shot back, turning to us. "He looked as if he was about to force-feed you poison."

"He wanted me to take the Mortal Sword and tell him everything," I explained. "He thinks Charlotte is part of some conspiracy theory. I have no idea why he would connect it to _me,_ though."

"It would not have been a disaster even if he had given you the Mortal Sword," Jem said reasonably, but his voice was tinged with exhaustion. "The Silent Brothers know who you are and where you come from. Since they know you wish to keep it a secret, they would not have divulged the information to Benedict."

My shoulders relaxed and now it was my turn to smile at him; I hadn't thought of that point. "But now he _knows _that Charlotte is keeping something from him. No offense, but you weren't exactly subtle about dragging me out of there."

"So you're suggesting we should have said, 'Our apologies, Mr Lightwood, but we do not appreciate you questioning Abby when she is obviously hiding something. Since she is an appalling liar, we decided to intervene'?" Will asked, sarcasm dripping from every word.

"No, you should have just—"

But Will never got to find out what he "should have just" done, for Jessamine came stalking down the corridor towards us, looking irate. She was wearing a pair of men's trousers and a waistcoat, while her hair was braided and stuffed under a large hat. As we gaped at her strange appearance, she demanded, "Will, you must do something about Benedict Lightwood. He is snooping around in all of the rooms, and when I saw him trying to enter my bedroom he said he was lost."

Will muttered, "Lost, my—"

"Just _do _something about it!" Jessamine screeched. With an exaggerated sigh, Will pushed himself off the wall and headed in the direction of the stairs, muttering something about Jessamine's outfit making her delusional. She ran after him, flapping her arms, like a mother goose scolding her goslings.

When they had disappeared, I turned back to Jem, who had been unusually silent for the latter half of the conversation. He was leaning forward slightly, his arm wrapped around his stomach. "Jem?"I asked anxiously as he began to cough, the hacking sounds echoing throughout the hallway.

_Oh, God, _I thought, frantically searching around for help. But Will and Jessamine were gone, and I had no idea where any of the others were.

Blood was now visible on Jem's hand, seeping through his fingers and dripping onto the floor. His eyes were half-closed, his breathing coming in irregular gasps. I put my hand on his shoulder, and he collapsed into me, the weight of his body pressing against my side. I wasn't strong enough to hold him up for longer than three seconds, and we both ended up falling to the floor, his cane clattering onto the ground.

"Jem," I whispered, pressing the back of my hand against his forehead, which was dripping with sweat. "You have to get up. I can't carry you—"

His eyes opened slightly, focusing on me for barely a moment before he went limp again. His head rested on my lap, and I brushed strands of hair out of his face, watching in horror as blood gathered at the corners of his mouth. He began to cough again, and I felt sick with worry.

My eyes fell on his cane, lying some feet away, and I had a sudden, desperate idea. Keeping one hand on his arm, I reached over and grabbed the handle, pulling it towards me. At the same time, I gently took his shoulders and pulled him into a sitting position so that he wouldn't choke on the blood, forcing the handle of the cane into his right hand. _Raziel, please let this work, _I prayed, but I didn't have time to be proud of myself for using the Angel's name. Jem was gasping now, taking deep rattling breaths that sounded as if he was struggling for air. Throwing all my strength into the movement, I pulled myself to my feet, and Jem rose with me. His hands shook uncontrollably on the cane. He was still leaning into me, but at least this time the majority of his weight was on the cane and I could manage to stagger forward.

The only sound now was Jem's stifled gasps, and his entire body was shaking so hard that I had to brace myself against the wall so that I wouldn't fall over again. Both of us were now covered in blood and there was a trail of crimson stains on the floor. I thought briefly of poor Sophie having to clean up the mess before Jem rasped out, "Abby…I need—I need—"

Whatever was he going to say—you? The drug? Will?—was drowned out in his next fit of coughing. This time he lost all semblance of balance, and collapsed again, his eyes rolling back in his head. Luckily we were close enough to his room for me to grab him by the shoulders and half-carry, half-drag him inside, ignoring my arms screaming in pain as I lifted him onto the bed. As soon as I let go of him, whirling around to look for his _yin fen _box, I felt a firm hand grab my wrist and yank me back toward him, his grip stronger than I thought. Jem's eyes were open again, the silver irises wheeling around wildly. He began to shout in Mandarin, his fingers gripping my arm so hard I could feel bruises already beginning to form. I remembered what Will had said about his fits when he became very ill, and Sophie telling me that Will was the only one who could calm him down. But I didn't have time to get help. Damn it, there just wasn't enough _time—_

Jem suddenly sucked in a loud breath, his hands momentarily loosening on my skin as he began to thrash about on the bed, his shouts becoming more desperate. I recognized a few words from when he'd been teaching me Mandarin, like "Mother" and "Father", but the rest was an incoherent mess. I was sure that I wouldn't have been able to fully understand even if I_ had _known the language.

My muscles seemed to unfreeze all of a sudden, and I was struck by how stupid I must seem, staring at him like an idiot when he was in such a state. I nearly flew over to the table, grabbing the jug of water and filling it up before spooning out a handful of _yin fen _and dumping it into the cup. Water sloshed over the sides and I could feel my skin burning as a sprinkling of the powder landed on my hand. But I ignored it, instead wheeling around and hurrying back to the bed, where I tried to force the cup into his hand. But Jem was still completely out of it, tossing and turning almost violently. There was no way I would be able to hold him still, unless—

I placed the glass of water on the edge of the table, within easy reach, before taking a deep breath and literally throwing myself onto him, pinning him down onto the bed as best as I could. It wasn't an easy task—his arms were still waving about, but I threaded my fingers through his and pushed them down onto either side of his head. My knees were digging into the blankets on either side of his waist, and although I was straddling him I held myself so that we weren't touching, even though I could feel the heat burning up through his clothes. I felt a peculiar rush of heat through my own body that had nothing to do with illness.

"Jem, please calm down," I begged, knowing full well that my words wouldn't help in the least. His pupils were wide, the silver almost swallowed up by the black. He was still lashing around under me, and I could feel my arms begin to shake as the strength started to leave them. In one last desperate attempt, I snatched the glass off the table and brought it to his lips, holding his head down with my other hand so he couldn't turn away. Tilting the glass forward, I poured some water into his mouth, watching in distress as he choked and spluttered, but I saw the muscles in his throat move as he swallowed. After a moment of bated breath, I plunged forward and emptied the entire glass down his throat. Jem gave a loud, shuddering gasp, and finally lay still.

The cup slipped from my trembling hand and shattered onto the floor in an ear-splitting crash, but I barely noticed the noise. My heart was doing backflips in my chest, and I felt dizzy. I had never been this terrified before, not even when I was being pursued by the spider or chased by Nate.

The moment stretched on, agonizing in its silence—I swore that all the clocks stopped ticking and everything in the world paused in its ceaseless rush towards death—and then Jem's eyes flew open, heavy-lidded and unfocused—but he was alive.

He was alive, and time had restarted.

I exhaled the breath I hadn't even been aware I was holding before taking in great, greedy gasps of air as I fell to the side on the pillows next to him. _He's alive, _I kept thinking over and over. _He's alive. _But try as I might, I couldn't erase the memory of the agony in his eyes as he thrashed around on the bed, crying out for his parents.

"Abby," Jem murmured, his voice husky. "You saved my life. It was almost too late—"

"Don't talk like that," I demanded, closing my eyes and welcoming the darkness. "Someone else would have eventually helped you. I didn't do anything."

"They wouldn't have gone as far as what you did," Jem replied, and was that something like _embarrassment _in his voice? "I am…I am sorry that you saw me like this. It is not something I would wish for you to witness—"

I shook my head and started to sit up—though my legs were by now jelly and I probably would have fallen straight to the floor—but again Jem held me back, although his touch was light this time and I could have easily broken it. "There is some _yin fen _on your fingers," he said, concern in his voice as he turned my palm over in his own hand.

"It's fine," I told him. "I'll just wash it off—"

But he didn't let me finish my sentence; before my incredulous eyes, he slowly lifted my hand to his mouth, softly brushing his lips across each of my fingers and never taking his eyes off mine. I was shuddering again, but with desire this time rather than fear. I had never before wanted to kiss someone so badly, and my body physically ached with the distance between us as I closed my eyes at his touch, his mouth lingering on each finger as he cleaned them of the drug.

"It is dangerous," he said after another moment, and his voice was uneven too. But my mind was in such a frenzy that I wasn't sure if he was talking about the _yin fen _or whatever connection that existed between us, that only seemed to grow stronger with each meeting.

"Jem," I whispered as his eyes fluttered closed again, drawing my hand back from him. Now I put my own fingers to my lips, tasting the remnants of the drug on my tongue and the scent of Jem's mouth, remembering the taste of our kiss in the carriage.

"Stay with me," he gasped. "Please."

How could I say no to him? Moving very slowly, I stretched out on the bed beside him, our bodies not quite touching. I rolled onto my side and watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, afraid that every breath would be his last one.

* * *

The shadows were beginning to grow longer when Jem stirred, his silver eyes opening and fixing on me with a gentle gaze. I blushed as I remembered his mouth on my fingers, the softness of his lips on my skin…somehow that simple touch had seemed more intimate than any kiss could ever be.

"You stayed," he said, smiling as brightly as if I had accepted a marriage proposal. There seemed an infinite amount of joy and optimism in those two syllables, and not for the first time I felt unworthy of his affection, even if it turned out to be merely platonic.

"I wouldn't leave you," I said, and was surprised at how vehement I sounded. Jem's eyes widened in astonished delight, and I had to look away from the intensity of his gaze. "I mean it. It doesn't matter whether it's just as friends or…or something more, whatever _this_ is—"

Jem pushed himself up on his elbows, looking at me with concern. "Are you speaking of the past weeks? I wished to give you time to think about it, to be absolutely sure you made the right decision."

"I think my decision was made the moment I kissed you," I whispered.

Our lips were just inches apart, and this time he closed the distance between us, his mouth meeting mine tenderly, carefully.

We had kissed once before, but I had been too shocked and overwhelmed to properly process what was happening, and it had only lasted a moment or two, a brief press of lips. This time was completely different.

It was leisurely, less hurried. I had absolutely no idea how to kiss, and frankly had never understood it—what did people _do _when their lips were locked for minutes at a time? How could they even breathe?—but Jem led me along carefully, kissing each side of my mouth and allowing me room to breathe. Everything else melted away from around me but _Jem_—sweet, kind Jem, whose kisses were as soft as the boy himself. I threaded my hand around his fingers, pressing as close to him on the bed as I could get without sitting on his lap, and didn't let him go when his lips found mine again, kissing him back with all the strength I possessed.

This seemed to unlock something inside of him, and soon the kisses turned harder and faster, his mouth pressing more urgently against mine like he had been dying of thirst and finally found water. I let out a small gasp—all the movies I'd seen, all the books I'd read, had never described this feeling of an urgency, like fire through my veins—and all I knew was that I wanted to get as close as possible to Jem _now_, and nothing else mattered—

His hands were brushing the hair out of my face, trailing across my cheekbones and my jaw, slowly moving down my shoulders and sending a shiver through me. Now I was kissing him harder, both of us hurtling through barriers we didn't understand, going faster than we probably should have been because there wasn't enough _time_. There would never be enough time, not even if we had eternity.

My hair was falling out of its bun, but I barely noticed; my hands were on the flat of his back, feeling the bones under his skin. I felt so _alive_: though my eyes were closed, I could hear our mingled breathing, nearly gasps in the quiet room, whenever we drew back for air; I could feel his soft lips pressing against mine, pushing them back into my teeth; and I could taste the salt on his lips and feel the sweat that had accumulated against his skin—or was it mine? I couldn't tell whether he ended and I began anymore.

I finally understood, then, why someone would die for love. I understood why my mother had never looked for romance again after Dad. Some tiny part of me was aware that I would probably meet the same fate as her, but I didn't care right then. Worrying would happen later, when I wasn't so tangled up in Jem. Even his name sounded holy. _Jem. _I was whispering his name against his mouth, chanting the syllable over and over like I was praying.

And then his hands curved in the arch of my back and pulled me onto his lap. Heat burned a steady fire through me as I ran my own hands through his hair, keeping his face firmly pressed to mine. His heart was slamming against my chest, and I was sure mine was beating just as quickly. But my mind was racing ahead, and it occurred to me that I had been dreaming of this moment for weeks now, ever since I'd first met him. Even during the first night I had spent at the Institute, while he was standing outside my door, I had been dreaming of him in the moonlight, still and pale.

Somehow we fell back onto the bed together, Jem's leg already winding around my waist and sending jolts of pleasure throughout my entire body, ready to position himself above me—and it was then that a door slammed in the distance, breaking us apart with it. I shot up, springing to my feet guiltily and smoothing down my dress while Jem sat up slower, never looking away from me.

"Oh, God," he whispered, his voice low and hoarse, his eyes very bright as if he had just taken his entire quantity of _yin fen_. His lips were red and swollen, his hair mussed and disheveled. Now he looked dazed, as if he had been jolted out of a dream.

"Where did you learn to kiss like that?" I gasped, sure my eyes were as round as saucers. I took a step back from him, half-afraid that I would leap onto him again if I came any closer.

"I didn't," Jem said matter-of-factly. He was beginning to compose himself now, his gaze turning curious. "Do you…do you not regret that?"

"_Regret _it?" I asked in astonishment, looking frantically around for some sort of paper so that I could fan myself. I was sure my face was still bright red from the frenzied kiss, and I tried to grin flippantly. "How can I regret something like that? I mean—that was—" I scrambled for the correct words and came up woefully short.

"That is not how I imagined it would turn out," Jem admitted. "I imagined something slightly less wild." He grinned lopsidedly, one corner of his mouth twitching upwards. "Perhaps Charlotte was correct and we_ do_ need a chaperone. I am amazed that she had the foresight to see this coming."

"Not Will," I immediately said. "He hates me."

"Will does not hate you. Abby, I have seen the way he acts around those he truly dislikes. He is no crueler to you than he is to the others at the Institute." Jem sighed, turning serious.

"Well, I would imagine he has other things on his mind," I said, thinking of Tessa. Had her kiss with Will been as passionate, as intense as the one I'd just experienced with Jem? Knowing Will, it probably had been. It was Jem one wouldn't expect to be so…fervent. I glanced back between our intertwined hands and Jem's face. "Should we…I mean, should we let the others know about it now?" _Whatever "it" is. There's no pretending that I only care about Jem as a friend anymore, not since I was about five seconds from tearing his clothes off._

He patted down his hair with his free hand, erasing all evidence that I'd ever been running my fingers through it. "It is up to you, Abby. I daresay they will find out soon, at any rate, if we continue to embrace in such a way with the door open."

"I think I'd better tell Tessa before she has a heart attack," I said wryly. "She was your most fervent supporter."

A blush spread up from Jem's neck to his cheeks; it was ridiculously endearing. "I take it she told you about our conversation on Blackfriars Bridge?"

"Not the particulars," I assured him. "Just that you cared deeply for me but were wary to admit your feelings. Wariness that was," I added firmly, "Unnecessary. I'll be by your side as long as I'm here, Jem Carstairs. Never forget that."

There was a movement from the door, and I spun around to see Sophie. She was standing in the entrance, looking stricken. "I checked your room to see if you were there, but it appears you were otherwise engaged," she said.

"Sophie," I said immediately, letting go of Jem's hand and stepping forward. "Sophie, I am sorry—"

But she had already left the room and was gone. Distraught, I buried my face in my hands. Jem put a soft hand on my shoulder. "Abby, what is it?" he asked, worried.

It took me a full twenty seconds before I could raise my head, staring anguished at him. Should I tell him? Could I betray Sophie's trust like that? "It's…it's nothing, Jem," I said. "It was just me."


	19. Nineteen

**There may be an unexpected Will/Abby "moment" in the next few chapters, so keep an eye out for that! ****;)**

* * *

**I **expected Jem to press the point and ask me another question about Sophie, but he just sank back onto his pillows, looking troubled. I expected that becoming used to lies and secrets came with the territory when Will Herondale was your _parabatai._

"Are you feeling all right now?" I asked, leaning over and hesitantly pressing the back of my hand against his forehead. A small smile appeared on Jem's lips, but his face was still creased in worry.

"Never better," he assured me, although even I could sense the hint of dark irony in his voice. "Abby, I wish you would not touch me like that. I…" A blush covered his cheeks, and he quickly closed his eyes, as if berating himself for misspeaking.

"Huh?" I asked none too articulately, reluctantly taking my hand away from him. "Then how do you want me to touch you?" _I definitely could have worded that better…_

Now Jem was evidently embarrassed, his eyes darting between me and the blankets, as if they held some fascinating secret. "I wish you would not behave as if you were merely acting the part of nurse. I want you to touch me the way you were…before, not as if I am some delicate figurine that might shatter at any moment."

"Before," I echoed, and my mind flashed back to the events of several minutes ago, where I had indeed been paying no heed to his illness or treating him like an invalid. _"Oh._ I'm sorry, Jem."

But he was shaking his head. "Please do not apologize. It is not your fault. I am not going to break so easily, Abby. I can assure you of that." Another smile crossed his face, but it was humorless and almost bitter. I was unsure how to act, my hand still poised in the air.

"How do you know?" I whispered. He was so pale and paper-thin that I could see his veins, threading intricate patterns just under his skin.

"Try it," he whispered, and I placed my hand on his chest, just below the base of his throat. I could feel his heart against my palm, beating steadily under my touch. This time I wasn't able to keep myself from blushing, and avoided his eyes, but biting my lip to hide my smile all the same.

"Abby," he breathed, and I quickly took my hand away from him, but he was looking at me with a steady, clear gaze. "If you do not mind me asking, why did Henry want to see you?"

Of course, I couldn't lie to him. "He's made progress with the Portal," I admitted. "It's only a matter of time before he actually succeeds with it. I don't know if I should be happy or regretful. At first I would have given anything to be able to go back home. I've only been here a month, but in certain ways it's felt like much longer."

Jem's eyes widened. "And do you…do you want to go home now, Abby?"

I let out a whoosh of air, looking away from him across the room. My eyes were fixed on his _yin fen _box. To go home would be to go back to a world where he didn't exist, where he was long buried and nothing more than dust under a gravestone. Of course Tessa would still be alive, but there was no guarantee Mom would allow me to see her, or that she would even _want _to see me. "Yes," I said first, and glanced back worriedly at him when I heard a sharp intake of breath, as if he was in pain. But when I met his eyes, he was only looking at me steadily with his peculiar gaze of silver. "But some part of me doesn't want to leave the people here." _Especially you. _"I know it's silly, but I've grown attached to the Institute. I don't know how I'll be able to cope when I can't talk to you or Tessa, or laugh at Jessamine, or even roll my eyes at Will." My bitterness was suddenly pouring out of me in waves. "The only way I'll be able to see any of you again is when I visit the graveyard."

Jem was silent for a long time, and I wondered if I had offended him. But just as I opened my mouth to apologize, he said, "You cannot wallow in sadness, Abby. You are here now, and when you do go back to your own time you will regret that you spent so much of it not wanting to go back."

"So what you're saying is I should make the most of it?" I echoed, wondering if that was his way of coping as well.

He nodded, and lifted his hand to cup my cheek, brushing his fingers against my jaw. "We cannot worry about the future when it has not arrived yet."

I pulled back from him, keeping his hand firmly clasped between both of mine, still hot with fever. "But that's not it, Jem. I wish—"

The sound of footsteps racing up the staircase outside stopped me, and I moved to stand up, but Jem kept me in his grasp, his expression resolute. I silently groaned when Will strode in, his face closely guarded.

He stopped short when he saw our intertwined hands, his eyes flickering back and forth between Jem and I with a completely unsurprised look. Rather, I was the one who was stunned. "And so it's begun," he said gloomily. "I suppose I shall have to stomach the two of you holding hands and behaving wildly indecently from now on. For future reference, Jem, if you are going to entertain a lady in your bedroom, make sure the door is closed."

"I'll keep that in mind," Jem said dryly, sitting up and throwing his legs over the side of the bed. He seemed stable; unfortunately, the bloodstains on our clothes were now visible, and Will's eyes instantly narrowed.

"James," he said sharply, and the use of his full name made Jem glance up from where I'd helpfully pulled him to his feet. "What happened?"

"It's nothing," Jem replied, even more firmly. "I was not feeling very well and took some _yin fen. _Abby was keeping me company."

Will stared at me suspiciously, but for once I refused to back down from him, meeting his cold blue gaze with as much fire as I could muster. "Charlotte would like to see both of us in the drawing-room," he said after a moment, turning away from me. Unfortunately, it was obvious the conversation was not over, merely postponed, and my heart sank as he continued, "Abby and I shall wait in the corridor while you change. I do not think Charlotte will be very pleased to see you tracking blood all over the Institute."

Jem gave me an apologetic look, and I smiled back as I followed Will out of the room, closing the door behind me. As soon as it had clicked shut Will turned to me, folding his arms. "How ill was he?"

I knew that it would do me no good to play it down, so I reluctantly told him about carrying Jem upstairs and holding him down while giving him the drug. Will's eyebrows gradually raised with each word until they were halfway up his forehead. He seemed unabashedly surprised and almost appreciative. "Well done again, future girl," he said grudgingly when I was finished. "You have surprised me yet again. I would not think you would have done such a thing for Jem."

"Of course I would," I exclaimed, suddenly indignant. "I lo—see Jem as one of my closest friends. There is very little I _wouldn't _do for him."

Will seemed to consider his next response carefully, a rare occurrence for him, before saying, "Perhaps I was wrong about you. You have saved his life in more ways than you understand. As his _parabatai, _I suppose I am indebted to you."

"What do you mean?"

"You make Jem happy, and that is all I ever asked for," Will said, and put his hand on my shoulder. "You have always made him happy. He has changed since you arrived. It may not seem like anything to you, but it is a great deal to me and those who know him well."

I was too shocked by his friendly touch to answer right away. "Then what was the point of all those 'tests' if you know that he cared for me all along?" I accused, managing to point a reproachful finger at him.

Will looked, even more astonishingly, as if he was about to laugh. "They weren't for _him_—they were for you. I had to make sure you could be counted on."

"And if I couldn't?"

He grinned at me. "You don't want to know. Perhaps if you had more of an interest in literature, I could direct you to a certain novel about mysterious disappearances—"

I pretended to be amused, but I couldn't help feeling grateful that Jem had such a loyal _parabatai. _I'd always gotten the impression that Will and Jem were closer than most friends, most _parabatai _even, so it was a rather reassuring prospect to know that Will and I had common ground on at least one topic. "Thank you, Mr Herondale," I said formally, grinning behind my hand.

"I think we are past that formality now," he pointed out, as if he was doing me a great favor. "You may call me Will."

"And _you _may call me Abby," I shot back. "My name is not 'future girl."

Now Will's eyes were sparkling with some sort of amusement, and while I considered asking him if he had one too many drinks Jem's door opened again and he stepped out in a clean white shirt and trousers. "Would you like to come along, Abby?" he asked, and I imagined his eyes softened when he saw me. "I'm sure Charlotte wouldn't mind—"

"No," said Will, and we both looked at him: in the ten seconds since Jem had appeared, he had turned temperamental and scowling again. My head was spinning from his sudden mood change, but something about his tone sounded resigned, though I couldn't place why. "If she wanted to speak to Abby, she would have specified it."

At least he was using my real name, I thought dryly, trying to hide my disappointment as Will set off down the hallway again. Jem hesitated for a second before reaching down and kissing me on the forehead, his lips warm and soft. I felt blood rush to my face as he smiled tenderly at me, squeezing my hand, before heading off after Will, looking respectively like the white and black knights I supposed they were.

Tessa and Sophie were probably still up in the training room with Gideon and Gabriel—the two Lightwood boys had been assigned to teach them the basics in the art of defending themselves. Luckily I was exempt from this practice, since Jem had mercifully trained me the first two weeks I'd been at the Institute. Although our training sessions had all but stopped, I would still occasionally head up to the training room to practice. Unfortunately, with its current residents those visits seemed like they would become fewer and farther between. I didn't like Gabriel, and assumed his older brother was much the same way.

So I headed off to the music room, knowing that it would be my last refuge. I'd been practicing a new melody that I was eager to show Jem, a lesser-known piece by Bach. Trying not to think about who I would play for once I got back to 1978, I slid onto the piano bench and began to play, letting my fingers fly over the keys. But I was barely consulting the sheet music anymore; I was instead thinking of what had happened between Jem and I earlier this afternoon—him nearly choking on his own blood, my terror as I'd forced the _yin fen _down his throat; and then the feel of his lips on mine, the shivers of pleasure that jolted through my body at his hands on me, and Will's expression when he had touched my shoulder, something that was almost affection…

The music had wildly deviated from its intended course, taking on a new form that I'd never heard before and that certainly wasn't Bach. It almost seemed to be propelled by my thoughts, giving tangibility to the memories. I hadn't ever tried composing my own music, being too caught up in trying to replicate the classics for my recitals. But this was so freeing, so limitless, that I was left wondering why I'd never tried it before. I didn't have the expectations of symbols on a page to conform to; no preconceptions of what I should strive to sound like. Of course, I wasn't perfect—the tune would probably have sounded grating to someone else's ears, and some of my notes were off-key, but I didn't care. Bach was now all but forgotten, as I closed my eyes and let myself play by ear, thinking of Jem's warm mouth pressing against my skin, and perhaps what could have happened if Sophie hadn't interrupted us—

"Abby?" a soft voice asked, breaking through my reverie. I tried to stifle my frustration as I stopped playing and turned around on the bench to see Tessa standing in the doorway with a book tucked under her arm as usual, back in her normal dress and her red cheeks the only sign that she had been exercising. "I am sorry to bother you, but there is something I wished to ask you."

"No, Tessa, it's fine," I lied, closing the piano lid before standing up and walking over to her, shutting the door behind us. "I was just trying to pass the time before dinner."

She frowned. "I did not recognize the song. Granted, I am not very well learned in music, but Jem has taught me the classics."

"Don't worry,"" I said quietly. "I didn't recognize the song either. What is it?"

Tessa tucked a curl behind her ear as she leaning forward, suddenly intent. "When we were searching for information about Mortmain earlier today, we found some information that linked him to the Starkweathers. He filed for recompense for the death of his mother at the York Institute. Since Aloysius is eighty-nine years old, he is likely to remember them personally."

"Is he?" I asked vaguely, but I thought I knew where this conversation was headed.

"Charlotte suggested that we travel to Yorkshire and discover more about the recompense. It is our only lead so far on Mortmain."

I frowned. "But I thought he hated the Fairchilds."

"That's why Charlotte is not going. She thinks that Will, Jem and I might have better luck persuading him to give us information. Perhaps I can take something of Aloysius's if nothing else works. I asked Charlotte if you could come along, and she agreed. Please, Abby? You have never been out of London, and I should not like to be the odd one out."

_I should not like to deal with Will alone, _was what she was really saying, but I already knew what my decision was going to be, even if only for the fact that I didn't want to be away from Jem. "Of course I'll go with you," I said. "When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow," Tessa replied, and I could see the muted excitement in her eyes, as if she was now a heroine going on some exciting adventure. "We shall take the train and leave from King's Cross in the early morning. Charlotte says we need only stay overnight, as our welcome is likely to wear out very quickly."

I nodded slowly. "All right. That certainly sounds…reassuring." I was about to ask how long the train ride was when I caught another glimpse of the novel in her grasp. Up close, it looked like the same book I had seen Will holding at dinner several days ago—_Vathek, _by William Beckford. "Getting caught up on your reading?" I asked slyly. "You know, I saw Will with it last weekend."

"I do not concern myself with his choice of pastimes," she said, too quickly to be entirely truthful, and surreptitiously hid it behind her back. But I had seen a short note on the first page written in what I was certain was Will's handwriting.

I ducked my head to hide my smile. It seemed that I wasn't the only one who had been in a good mood today.


	20. Twenty

**T**he rain that poured down onto London the following day was like nothing I'd ever seen before, not even in this city where the average weekly rainfall levels were higher than San Francisco's _yearly _rainfall levels. But I had to admit that I had never seen anything quite like this before; I could barely see a foot in front of me as I scurried through the courtyard of the Institute into the carriage, Jem chivalrously holding an umbrella over us so I wouldn't ruin my dress. Not that I cared about it anyway; I would be quite happy to wear my fighting gear all day if I could.

His hand brushed mine as he helped me inside, and I felt that shiver of pleasure run all the way down to the tips of my toes again. I smiled at him and pulled him up behind me, soaking both of us in the process as the torrent of rain splashed inside when I shut the door. His silver eyes were bright and wide as I squeezed his hand, not wanting to let go of him. Neither of us had yet spoken a word about what had happened between us yesterday, but I was constantly thinking about it—in fact, I hadn't been able to fall asleep last night as I'd memorized the feel of his lips against mine and his hands running down my body—so I had been delighted at this brief opportunity to get him alone, since it seemed as if we would be constantly surrounded for the next twenty-four hours. Every day was an uncertainty for both me and him, as overdramatic as that sounded.

"I do believe that you have ruined the umbrella," Jem murmured, his eyes crinkling in amusement, and I reluctantly tore my gaze from him to my hand, where it had nearly been crushed in half by the door. I'd unceremoniously shoved it aside in my eagerness to get to him.

"Screw the umbrella," I said rashly, tossing it to the floor. Jem laughed softly at my strange phrase, but his eyes were on mine again as he reached up a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear where it had come undone in my mad dash to the carriage. Rainwater was pouring off both of our clothes, and I could clearly see every pore in his face. I was struck with a sudden, intense rush of desire, and I leaned forward to close the distance between us, kissing him lightly and tasting the water against his mouth.

Jem gently pulled me closer to him, placing one hand on my waist so that I was flush against him. His lips sought mine with a pleasant tenderness—not exactly the intensity from the day before, but welcomed all the same. I wondered if I would ever get used to kissing him, or if I would ever become comfortable with this new Abby, who took chances with boys of her own accord and made out with them in bed.

After what seemed like barely a second, although it was most likely five or ten, he pulled away, his eyes focusing on the window streaked with rain. "Will and Tessa are nearly here," he explained in response to my baffled look, stroking the back of my hand with his thumb once before throwing open the door again. Tessa slipped in first, holding up her skirts and thanking Cyril, the Institute's new footman—who also happened to be Thomas's brother—as he helped her inside. I shared a friendly smile with her as she sat down beside me, and I felt a tiny measure of guilt for not telling her about my apprehension concerning Henry's Portal, Benedict Lightwood's visit, or, indeed, my passionate kiss with Jem. But then again, I had told her more about myself than I probably should have in my desperation to have a close confidante. Tessa was still guarded when it came to herself, and I often got the sense that she left out large parts when she told me about what had gone on between her and Will, or her feelings about Nate's betrayal. I couldn't blame her, though—she had gone through so much in the past few months, even more than I had, that it was understandable she wouldn't spill her heart out to a girl she had only known for several weeks. Nevertheless, she was the closest thing I'd ever had to a best friend, and I hoped that I would be able to continue my friendship with her when I got back to my own time.

Will bounded into the carriage a moment later, predictably sopping wet, and shouted an order at Cyril to take us to the train station. I couldn't help but notice that he was harsher with Cyril than he had been with Thomas, but it was partly understandable—according to Charlotte, he had been friends with Thomas before Jem had arrived at the Institute. Personally, I liked Cyril every bit as much as I had liked Thomas, appreciating their similarities. The new cook, Bridget, was another story. Her food was excellent, that much was certain, but I wasn't such an enormous fan of the songs she often sang, which usually ended in their subjects meeting tragic ends.

I briefly met Will's gaze as he sat down beside Jem, across from Tessa, and I could have sworn his eyes darkened. Will hadn't, of course, been too thrilled when he'd learned that I was also coming along to York, but then again nothing seemed to thrill him unless it went against most people's moral codes.

But then I caught Jem's eye, who had noticed the slight exchange between Will and I, and he rolled his eyes at his friend, shrugging slightly, before beaming brightly at me so that the memory of Will's cold stare was all but forgotten. I quickly turned to the window, pretending to be staring out at the rain, so the others couldn't see my grin.

* * *

Despite the atrocious weather, King's Cross was bustling with activity as we wove our way to the correct platform, Cyril following behind us with our luggage. I hadn't packed anything aside from my nightclothes and another dress for tomorrow—I hadn't even brought Dad's journal or my purse along, which really said a lot about how I trusted those at the Institute.

"Hurry up, you lot! The train won't wait all day," a harried-looking porter called as he grabbed our suitcases from Cyril, throwing them none too gently inside the train. I winced as I saw the latch on mine come undone as it smashed into the opposite wall.

"It will wait for _us,_" Will said, a devilish smirk on his face, before disappearing inside. Tessa and I bid goodbye to Cyril before Jem helped us both onto the train, his hand lingering on my arm longer than the bounds of propriety suggested. I smiled at him, giving his fingers a slight squeeze as I followed Tessa into the compartment where Will was already seated.

A deafening whistle blew just after I'd gotten comfortable, sitting across from Jem. Tessa and Will both had the window seats, and I could see a cloud of smoke beginning to envelop the platform as the train slowly pulled out of the station, gathering speed as it did. I'd never been on a train before, but the mere fact that this mode of transportation was recognizable to me even a century later gave me a sense, false though it was, that I was closer to home.

"Did you bring anything to read on the journey?" Will asked Tessa after a few minutes of silence. We were fast leaving London behind, the buildings and streets giving way to fields and farms.

Tessa set her chin, her grey eyes betraying nothing. "No. I haven't come across anything I particularly wanted to read lately." Even I could see Will's jaw clench at her words, and he turned back to the window, apparently biting his tongue.

Undeterred by his snappishness, Tessa continued, "There is always something so exciting about the start of a journey, don't you think?"

"No," he said sullenly, and pulled his hat down over his eyes so that just the bottom half of his face was visible.

"Haven't you ever been to the countryside before?" Jem asked her, playing peacemaker as usual.

Tessa shook her head, and began to explain about how she'd only ever been to Coney Island, wherever that was. I rested my head against the door of the compartment and watched the blurred figures moving to and fro in the corridor beyond, feeling the rattle of the train under us. I let their voices turn into one indistinguishable murmur, hoping that I would be able to get to sleep that night. It was hard to fully relax when my mind had kept darting to Jem and the sensation of his body over mine.

I broke off that thought pattern as soon as it began—I certainly did not want to have some torrid fantasy about him when Will and Tessa were both feet from us. Sometimes I had the unnerving feeling that Will could tell what I was thinking, although I knew logically it was impossible.

Trying and failing to push Jem out of my mind, I turned back to Tessa, who was now asking Will, "Do you miss Wales?"

He shrugged. "What's to miss? Sheep and singing. And the ridiculous language." And then he proceeded to speak in a language so convoluted that I wondered if he was making fun of her and it was just gobbledygook. I stared at him, my mouth hanging open.

"_That's_ Welsh?" I asked, unable to help myself. "By the Angel, I had no idea it sounded so outrageous when part of my family is from there!"

Will turned his bright gaze on me, masking the curiosity in his expression. "Who were they?" he asked. "Were they Nephilim?"

"_I_ don't know," I said crossly. "They were on my dad's side, so I guess so. Do you expect me to have memorized my entire family tree?"

But Will continued on as if he hadn't heard me, saying something about how he had the dragon of Wales tattooed somewhere on his body, which conjured up many mental pictures I could have done without. I couldn't have been more relieved when Jem interrupted, "You're in a _charming _temper, aren't you, William? Remember, Starkweather can't stand Charlotte, so if this is the mood you're in—"

"I promise to charm the dickens out of him," Will replied. "I shall charm him with such force that when I am done, he will be left lying limply on the ground, trying to remember his own name."

"The man's eighty-nine," Jem muttered. "He may well have that problem anyway."

I snorted, my eyes meeting Jem's for the first time since we'd gotten onto the train. He looked gratified and hesitantly grinned back. Then, as if remembering ourselves, we both looked away at once, though our smiles still remained.

"Perhaps we should discuss strategy," Jem said loudly, interrupting whatever argument Tessa and Will had been about to launch into. "Starkweather hates Charlotte but knows that she sent us. So how to worm our way into his good graces?"

"Tessa can utilize her feminine wiles," Will said immediately. "Charlotte said he enjoys a pretty face."

"What about me?" I asked.

Will gave me a bored once-over. "You know, Abby, it was not a mistake that I only included Tessa in that sentence," he drawled.

"Will!" Jem exclaimed, and for once I saw something that looked like true anger in his eyes. "You must stop this behavior. Abby has done nothing to deserve this kind of treatment from you."

Will glanced over at Jem_, _and a silent look passed between them. Surprisingly, Will was the one to turn away first. "I apologize, Jem," he finally said, but it was impossible to tell how sincere he was. "I did not mean to disrespect her. As your _parabatai, _it is my duty to protect her as well."

"Wait," said Tessa; she was looking intently back and forth between Jem and I. "Do you mean to say that you have entered into a courtship?"

"Yes, if it a courtship is what I think it means," I replied, unable to hide my smile at her astonished look.

"Then I truly wish you two the best," she said, now looking directly at me. I could feel her silent reproach toward me for not telling her beforehand. I shot her a conspiratorial glance that clearly said I would explain later, which seemed to mollify her somewhat.

I expected Will to make a snide remark about me having to go back to 1978, but he stayed quiet, his eyes on Tessa. An uncomfortable silence descended over the compartment, and I was relieved when Jem broke the tense atmosphere. "How are Abby and Tessa expected to explain their presence?"

"We can't say I'm a Shadowhunter; he'll know immediately that I'm not. No Marks," objected Tessa.

"And no warlock mark," Jem mused. "He'll think she's a mundane. She could Change, but…"

"Perhaps we could say she's a mad maiden aunt who insists on chaperoning us everywhere." Will looked quite pleased with this idea.

But Jem didn't seem so convinced. "My aunt or yours?"

"Yes, she doesn't really look like either of us, does she?" Sighing, Will lifted up the brim of his hat and gazed at Tessa, his eyes raking over her form with an intensity that somehow didn't cross the line into lecherousness. "Perhaps she's a girl who's fallen madly in love with me and persists in following me wherever I go."

"My talent is shape-shifting, Will, not acting," she replied dryly, to which both Jem and I laughed again.

"She had the better of you there, Will. It does happen sometimes, doesn't it?" Jem shook his head, still chuckling. "Perhaps I should introduce Tessa as my fiancée. We can tell mad old Aloysius that her Ascension is underway."

My throat tightened, my smile disappearing, and I tried unsuccessfully to stifle my jealousy. "Ascension?" Tessa asked.

"When a Shadowhunter wishes to marry a mundane—"

"But I thought that was forbidden?"

"It is," Jem said slowly, and I saw him throw half a glance at me. "_Unless _the Mortal Cup is used to turn that mundane into a Shadowhunter. It is not a common result, but it does happen. If the Shadowhunter in question applies to the Clave for an Ascension for their partner, the Clave is required to consider it for at least three months. Meanwhile, the mundane embarks on a course of study to learn about Shadowhunter culture—"

"It's not a bad idea, I suppose," Tessa said dubiously. "I do know rather a lot; I've finished nearly all of the _Codex._"

"It would seem reasonable that I brought you with me. As a possible Ascender, you might want to learn about Institutes other than the one in London. What do you think?" Jem turned to Will, while I stared at the floor, my jaw as tight as Will's had been earlier. _It doesn't mean anything, _I tried to tell myself, but even the voice in the back of my mind was unsure.

"It seems as fine an idea as any," Will answered, who did not seem to care either way. Or perhaps he was just better at hiding envy than I was.

Jem turned to me. "And Abby can be Tessa's Nephilim cousin, sent here as our chaperone." He grinned crookedly. "They do bear more than a passing resemblance if one looks for it."

With that settled, they turned to discussing the matter at hand. It had stopped raining, but even the sight of blue sky didn't lift my mood. I was still boiling with jealousy at seeing the Carstairs ring on Tessa's hand, and filled with a sense of melancholy when they had been talking about mundanes marrying Shadowhunters. I still didn't know why my mother had been rejected from the Clave, but now I found I detested them even more after learning that most mundanes who applied _were _accepted.

"Do you know if there are any more Starkweathers left after Aloysius, Will?" Jem was asking his _parabatai. _"If there aren't, I daresay that shall be the last of the family line."

"Does that happen often?" Tessa asked curiously.

Will nodded, speaking up for once. "Yes, many Shadowhunter families have died out due to battles or even producing all female children. For instance, there shall not be any Herondales after me."

"There are still Herondales in my time," I answered. "Marcus Herondale was my father's _parabatai._"

Will looked sharply at me. "That is not possible."

"Why not?"

But he didn't answer, leaving me to puzzle over why he was so insistent about it.

Their conversation turned to the concept of _parabatai _soon after that, with Tessa initiating all of the questions. Raziel, she must have been absolutely unbearable as a child. Where I often stayed quiet, her curiosity knew no bounds.

My ears perked up when I heard Jem say, "Well, Will won't need to create a new religion just to be rid of me. He'll be free soon enough."

Both Will and I made to speak up, but Tessa had already exclaimed, "Don't say that. A cure could still be found. I don't see any reason to abandon all hope."

"I haven't abandoned hope," Jem said firmly, but I saw that his eyes were resting on me. "I just hope for different things than you do, Tessa Gray."

* * *

I hadn't realized that the journey would take so long; at least five hours must have passed before I heard the squeal of the train's brakes. I blearily opened my eyes from where I'd fallen asleep against the wall, my neck aching from the uncomfortable position, and saw that Tessa was shaking herself awake as well. Will and Jem were both already standing, Will sliding open the compartment door, and I stuck close to Jem as we leapt off the train and into York station, which was surprisingly much grander and more ostentatious than King's Cross. The roof above us was made almost entirely of glass, and I watched a duck-shaped cloud gently drift by as we waited for our luggage to arrive.

Just after Tessa had retrieved her suitcase, an elderly but spry man loomed up out of nowhere, startling me. He had a cane like Jem's, but his was markedly older and thicker. "Nephilim?" he asked in a hoarse voice, his eyes narrowing to slits. "Is it you?"

"Dear God," Will gasped theatrically. "It's the Ancient Mariner who stoppeth one of thee."

"Ah'm 'ere at t'bequest of Aloysius Starkweather," the man rasped. "Art t'lads he wants or not? Ah've not got all night to stand about."

Will was noticeably amused. "Important appointment with an albatross? Don't let us keep you."

Tessa laughed. "Huh?" I asked blankly.

Jem noticed my confusion and smiled. "Sometimes it's best not to ask." He continued in a louder voice, "What my mad friend means to say is that we are indeed Shadowhunters of the London Institute. Charlotte Branwell sent us. And you are…?"

"Gottshall. Me family's been serving the Shadowhunters of the York Institute for nigh on three centuries now. I can see through tha' glamours, young ones. Save for this one. If there's a glamour on the girl, it's summat I've never seen before." Gottshall squinted at Tessa, who fidgeted uncomfortably as Jem took her hand and I tore my gaze away from them.

"She's a mundane—an Ascendant," Jem lied. "Soon to be my wife. And this is her cousin, a Shadowhunter and our chaperone. We met through her. The Council thought it would be beneficial for Miss Gray to see another Institute besides London's."

Gottshall didn't look convinced. "Has Mr Starkweather been told aught about this?"

"It depends what Mrs Branwell told him."

He raised his bushy eyebrows. "Well, I hope she told him something, for yer sakes. If there's a man in t'world who hates surprises more than Aloysius Starkweather, Ah've yet to meet the bast—beggar. Begging your pardon, miss." I wasn't sure whether his words were directed at me or Tessa, but we both mumbled something about accepting his apology. I found myself staring at Will, who was striding away from us, so as not to see Jem and Tessa's intertwined hands.

* * *

The carriage ride to the York Institute was long and uncomfortable. While Jem and Tessa laughed quietly to each other and pretended to be lost in their own little world under Gottshall's watchful eyes, both Will and I sat resentfully, our expressions for once mirrored on each other's faces.

"I take it you two are tying t'knot as well?" Gottshall asked. Startled, I glanced up at Will, where we both instantly denied it.

"No, we're not—"

"—Would never dream of it—"

"Ah, I see," Gottshall said, and winked at both of us. "No need to keep secrets, eh? Damned if my prediction don't come true!"

Now Tessa and Jem were both staring at us. I slowly slid down in my seat, refusing to look at anyone and watching the York Institute slowly roll into view. It wasn't as grand as the London Institute, but its spires and turrets were more elaborate, its painted-glass windows sparkling in the weak sunlight.

This time it was my turn to hop down from the carriage at once, feeling the wind blow my dress around wildly as we made our way up the path to the front doors. We'd left the town behind us, and now we were surrounded by moors, the wild landscape a pleasant breath of fresh air—literally—from the claustrophobic, stifling atmosphere of London.

The front door swung open even before Jem had raised his hand to knock. A withered man stared back at us, a man even older than Gottshall. Aloysius was ancient, but he still carried himself proudly, a spark that wasn't entirely friendly in his black eyes. He spoke to Will first: "Young Herondale, are you? Half-mundane, half-Welsh, and the worst traits of both, I've heard."

"_Diolch," _Will said, and Aloysius made a displeased noise in the back of his throat.

"Mongrel tongue. James Carstairs. Another Institute brat. I've half a mind to tell the lot of you to go to blazes. That upstart bit of a girl, that Charlotte Fairchild, foisting you all on me with nary a by-your-leave. None of that family ever had a bit o'manners. I could do without her father, and I can do without—" But his eyes had landed on Tessa, and astonishment crossed his features, like he had seen a ghost.

"This is Tessa Gray, sir," Will introduced before he could recover. "She is a mundane girl, but she is the bethrothed of Carstairs, here, and an Ascendant. The blonde one is Abigail Cartwright, her Nephilim cousin who is also from America."

"A _mundane, _you say?" Aloysius's eyes were still wide.

"An Ascendant," Will clarified. "She has been a faithful friend to the Institute in London, and we hope to welcome her into our ranks soon."

"A mundane. " Aloysius was still clearly shocked. "Well, times have—Yes, I suppose then—Get Cedric and Andrew to help you bring our guests' belongings up to their rooms. And do tell Ellen to instruct Cook to set four extra places for dinner tonight. I may have forgotten to remind her that we would have guests."

Gottshall laughed under his breath. Aloysius gave him a stark glare before moving back into the Institute. "Well, come along. You needn't stand there. Follow me and I'll show you to your rooms."

"Would the pair of you like a room together?" Gottshall asked, gesturing to Will's and my suitcases. His eyes were alive with wicked amusement.

Aloysius turned back, frowning at us. "You two are also betrothed?"

"We aren't engaged!" Will and I shouted in unison. But neither man seemed to hear us, and we stomped into the Institute, both fuming. I could have sworn I saw Jem's lips twitch.

* * *

"By the Angel, what _is _this stuff?" Will held up his fork, staring with disgust at the muck he'd scooped up on his plate. I had to agree with him; the food didn't look appetizing whatsoever. Then again, it fit perfectly with the gloomy, dank atmosphere of the York Institute. My bedroom here was at least half the size it was in London, and I hadn't seen any torches on the walls on my way downstairs, meaning that at night the building would be pitch-black. It wasn't, I thought, a very welcoming place. I could see why Aloysius had no need for guests.

"What _is _this?" Will continued, unable, it seemed, to even take a bite. I put my fork down as well, my appetite having suddenly disappeared. "This…this…_thing?_"

"A parsnip?" Jem said mildly.

"A parsnip planted in Satan's own garden. I don't suppose there's a dog I could feed it to." Will looked around the dining-room with an almost hopeful expression.

"There don't seem to be any pets about." So far, Jem was the only one who appeared to be able to eat the food. Tessa and I had both just rearranged the contents of our plates with the cutlery.

"Probably all poisoned by parsnips," Will said darkly.

"Oh, dear," Tessa remarked, sounding sad. "And I was so hungry too."

"There's always the dinner rolls. Though I warn you, they're hard as stones. You could use them to kill black beetles, if any beetles bother you in the middle of the night." Clearing his throat, Will announced,

"_There once was a lass from New York,  
Who found herself hungry in York.  
But the bread was like rocks,  
The parsnips shaped like—"_

"You can't rhyme 'York' with 'York'. It's cheating," Tessa interrupted, while I laughed.

"She's right, you know," Jem observed. "Especially with 'fork' being so obviously the correct choice—" But he trailed off as the door opened and Aloysius stomped in, a brown envelope clutched in one hand. I sighed in relief; hopefully this meant that our visit wouldn't be completely in vain.

"Good evening," Aloysius grumbled, taking a seat across from Tessa. "Mr Herondale, Mr Carstairs, Miss Cartwright, Miss—"

"Gray," she answered. "Theresa Gray."

"Indeed." Aloysius had just opened the envelope and was about to read its contents when a movement from the window across the way caught my attention, and my fork clattered to the table when I saw, with a thrill of horror, the enormous black spider that still haunted my dreams almost every night. I blinked several times to make sure I wasn't seeing things, but every time I opened my eyes it was still there, stark against the windowpane.

And then it was gone.

I stood up so fast that my chair hit the back of the wall. "I'm not feeling very well," I said—it was true. My stomach was churning, and I was grateful I hadn't eaten more. "I think I'll go to bed early tonight."

Before anyone could speak, I dashed out of the room, nearly flying up the staircase and down the corridor to my bedroom, where I locked my door and began to pace around the floor, my mind racing. Should I tell the others I had seen the spider? Was I just being paranoid? I knew that Jem couldn't come after me, since he was supposed to be playing the part of Tessa's fiancé. I was alone now, for better or for worse.

God, Mortmain must have created more clockwork spiders and was sending them after me. What on earth was I supposed to do? I felt for the handle of my seraph blade, but it was hardly reassuring. There could be an infinite amount of spiders just waiting to track me down.

I must have been pacing in endless circles for at least another hour before I heard footsteps across the corridor and I froze as the door across from mine closed with a loud click. I wasn't sure whose bedroom it was, but I guessed that Jem might have retired early—he had been looking unsteady at dinner. And I didn't want to stay in my room alone for another moment.

I quickly changed into my nightclothes before pulling on my dressing-gown and slipping across the hallway. The door was slightly ajar, and I peered inside, wishing I had brought my witchlight. Just as I was about to call out, I inhaled and could smell the spicy, slightly bitter scent of _yin fen _in the back of my throat. So this was Jem, then.

He was sprawled out on the bed in an unusual position, his breathing louder than I would have expected. I crept toward him—his silvery hair wasn't even visible in the dark room.

"Jem," I whispered. "Jem—"

I sensed him beginning to stir, and a warm hand reached out for me, grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me down to him. It was too late before I realized that this wasn't Jem at all—it was _Will_, and I'd barely let out a squeak of surprise before he was kissing me roughly, whispering the word "Tess" against my lips.

Of course, it didn't take him long to realize that I _wasn't _Tessa, and he shoved me away, his hand wildly scrabbling for the witchlight to illuminate his face, strained and pale and looking far younger than he usually did. "By the Angel, _Abby,"_ he groaned, and muttered something else in Welsh that I was sure was a stream of curses.

"I thought you were _Jem!" _I snapped at him, wiping my mouth with the back of my sleeve. "I smelled the _yin fen _in here."

"I always bring an extra supply with me in case he runs out," Will grumbled. Now he was on the defensive, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and glaring daggers at me. "Listen, you are not to tell anybody else about this, do you hear?"

"Who would I tell?" I asked, my temper flaring up in extreme annoyance. "It was an accident, anyway—"

He glowered at me for another moment before standing up and grudgingly saying, "Why did you run out at dinner, anyway?"

Still shaking with embarrassment and leftover anxiety, I hissed, "To get away from _you_," and flounced out of the room.

But just before I shut the door behind me I heard him say, very softly, "It is better for you if we are not friends, Abby."

I was mystified, to say the least. Surely he could have been cruel if he wanted. Instead, his voice was quiet, almost gloomy. Why was he making an effort to be kind about it?

Now I was left standing alone in the corridor. The door next to mine was shut, the room dark, but the one next to Will's was still half-open, and I saw the back of Jem's hair as he paced, mimicking my own pastime that evening. His expression was cast downward but worried and intent.

As I watched him, I noticed that spots were beginning to form in front of my eyes and I felt suddenly unsteady on my feet. Gasping for air, I slumped down to the floor, my hands braced against the cold ground as I struggled to breathe. Was I dying? I couldn't form a proper thought.

"Abby!" Jem exclaimed from the doorway, and hurried toward me, gently grabbing my shoulders and pulling me to my feet. His touch was light and gentle, the opposite of Will's, and my face flushed with humiliation at the mistake I'd made. Will's door was closed now, and I prayed he wouldn't come out to see what all the commotion was.

"I can't sleep by myself with that…that _thing _out there somewhere." My arms were wrapped around myself and I was shaking uncontrollably. Jem looked concerned, gently ushering me into the room before closing the door behind us.

In a halting voice, I explained why I had left dinner so early that evening and my subsequent dread that the spider had found me again. "I'm sorry, Jem," I hiccupped, perching on the edge of his bed and staring at a spot on the opposite wall, wishing I would stop shivering. "If someone comes in now—you and Tessa are supposed to be engaged—"

"And it is just that. An act," he said firmly, but his brow had furrowed slightly. "You do realize that, don't you? Tessa and I do not harbour any such feelings for each other any more than you and Will do."

I thought about my mistaking Will for Jem and the harshness of his mouth on mine when he'd thought I was Tessa, however brief it had been, and I whimpered as guilt stabbed through my stomach like a knife. "Y—yes," I stuttered, unable to tell him what had really happened. I despised myself. I was nothing but a coward. How could I have even thought that I was a proper Shadowhunter?

"You just had a panic attack," he soothed, kissing my temple and stroking my jaw. "But you're fine. Will and I won't let any harm come to you, Abby. Do you understand that? I will do everything in my power to make sure you are safe." His arms tightened around me, and I sniffled, hating the way that tears were still leaking out from under my closed eyelids and I couldn't seem to get warm. I thought compulsively again of the spider, its pincers clacking malevolently as it had stared inside the room at me, and I pressed myself even closer to him, drawing in his scent and using his heartbeat to steady my breathing. "Is this too close?" I whispered when I felt him shudder.

But Jem shook his head, slowly laying his head on the pillow next to me and his own arms enfolding themselves around my back. "It is not…" he began, and then broke off, making a soft choking noise as if reprimanding himself for misspeaking.

I opened one eye, staring up at the half of his face I could see. The fire was still burning in the grate, enveloping the room with a pleasant warmth that made me think of winter and snow and Christmas—not that I'd ever gotten to experience one living in California. "It's not what?" I whispered.

Now it was Jem's tone to close his eyes—he couldn't lie to me, just as I couldn't lie to him—and murmured, "Not close enough."

I had to look away from him, using every ounce of my self-control not to cover his lips with my own and show him just _how _close we could get.

I wanted him so badly. Even if it was just to know once and for all that we completely belonged to each other, and some tiny shard of his heart didn't beat Tessa's name. I wanted to explore every part of him and kiss every scar that mapped his skin, but not here. Not here, in a strange bed in a strange house, and not when I was still recovering from a panic attack. "Soon," I whispered, and I could hear his breathing come quicker, his heart rate speeding up along with it.

He was humming under his breath, perhaps to distract himself from thinking about what we had been so close to doing, and I recognized it as a song he'd once played on his violin, although I wasn't entirely sure of the name. I was about to ask, but I could feel myself relaxing, my muscles unclenching one by one, and I didn't want to break the silence.

_I love you, _was my last conscious thought before sleep overtook me, and by that point I was too exhausted to even consider the ramifications of what that meant. From then on my mind finally accepted the fact that I had somehow known all along: I was in love with Jem Carstairs, and I would be forever.


End file.
